Lean into the Discomfort
by alongthisroad
Summary: Picks up where the mid-season finale left us: Maura has been kidnapped, Jane is searching frantically for her best friend. Decided to write this after rewatching 5:26 and finding I couldn't wait til February to find out what happens. Rated T for now.
1. Good advice

"How could I have been so fucking oblivious, Frankie?" Jane paced back and forth in the squad room. It had been nearly 6 hours, and they had no real leads yet. Only an untraceable burner phone used to call Maura. She paused, lifting both hands to her face, pressing the bridge of her nose between her index fingers. "I… she's… damn it, she's my best friend. My fucking best friend. She and Ma basically _live_ in the same house. How could I forget to call her? To warn her?" Her voice cracked with emotion as she slammed a fist down on Frost's desk. Her curls hung in front of her face as she hunched her shoulders and bowed her head, pushing back against the edge of the desk.

The younger Rizzoli got up quickly out of Jane's chair, the one he'd be sitting in since the moment they'd realized Maura had been taken. Jane had wanted someone to stay there to answer her desk phone in case by some miracle Maura called. "Janie, it's not your…"

"Don't. Don't." Jane cut her brother off before he could finish. "Don't you dare say it." She lifted and turned her head just enough to stare straight at him with those piercing dark eyes, trying to turn all her guilt and horror at what had happened into a tangible anger. If she could be angry at Frankie just for a minute, maybe she could forget just how angry she was with herself. "I," she emphasized, pointing a finger to her chest, "let her down." Her brother frowned but said nothing more. He didn't have the courage to go toe to toe with his big sister in a time like this one.

"So then do something about it, Detective." Surprised, Jane straightened up and looked towards from where the voice had come, at computer-wiz Nina Holiday who stood in the door of the tech room. Nina was tough, but she usually wasn't this forward, especially with Jane. The way she had said it wasn't condescending or abrasive, but matter-of-fact.

"You are the best there is, Rizzoli," Nina offered, her tone kind but direct. "No offense, Frankie. But Jane, you're the best we've got. You know Maura better than any of us. If there's a way to bring her home, you're going to find it. So whatever it is that you're feeling right now, whatever guilt or regret or self-loathing you've got going on right now, you gotta put it aside. Maura still needs you. You've got to focus, Jane. Save the feelings for when she's back, safe." As she spoke she had walked slowly towards the brunette and was now within arms' reach, but she made no effort to comfort the detective. "We all have to."

Jane stood silent for a few moments more. She knew it was true, but she didn't know how to ignore the excruciating torment she felt over Maura's abduction. Maura, _her_ Maura, the one person who really ever understood Jane, had been taken. Maura, who always thought of Jane first – not her job, not her family, but Jane. _Her_ Maura, whose first item on her own bucket list was to do something from Jane's. God, she was special. And Jane had taken her for granted. Jane wallowed in her own self-pity. She knew Nina was right, but she didn't think she was physically or emotionally capable of taking her emotions out of the equation this time.

Jane thought for a moment about the last time she had seen Maura. She had gone down to the morgue to see Boston's Chief Medical Examiner, to unload the stress and frustration which had been building up ever since they hit a brick wall in their investigation into who had set fire to Jane's apartment. Maura had always been Jane's sounding board and this time was no different. She had slumped down onto the couch in Maura's office, sulking as best she knew how. It made her feel better, even if just a little. They had talked, Maura mostly trying to distract Jane with what-ifs and other lives, and Maura like always had been ready to share something personal about herself in an attempt to get the detective's defenses down just for a minute. But Jane was stubborn. Maura had even tried a bit of humor to lift her spirits but she just wasn't in the mood. After that, Jane remembered standing abruptly and walking out of the office with the excuse of letting the ME get back to her work, and Jane recalled Maura reaching out for her hand, asking her to stay, but she had skirted her reach and kept walking, turning back only to half-heartedly reassure Maura that she was fine. But Maura could see right through her and Jane knew it.

The truth was that Maura was incredibly good at breaking down Jane's walls, and Jane was sure that had she stayed another minute on that couch, the doctor would have gotten her to confess what was really wrong – that Jane, tough, no-nonsense Detective Rizzoli, felt terrified and helpless. So instead of admitting to what she saw as her weaknesses, she ran. " _Coward_ ," Jane thought, squeezing her eyes shut at the memory.

" _Maybe it would help if you..._ " at that moment, Maura's voice popped into Jane's head. Something she had said before Jane had stood and walked out. Advice. Good advice. God, even now, Maura was the one helping her through this crisis.

Jane straightened, and then, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thought, looking back at Nina. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I've gotta get my head in the game here. I haven't been able to think straight ever since that first call went to voicemail." That wasn't exactly true. In reality, it had been from the second she had pressed 2 on speed dial that a sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach had taken over, and after only the first unanswered ring, her vision had started to fog and her heart started to race. By the time she actually heard Maura's voicemail message, she was already in a complete panic. The rest was a blur: the race to the precinct, Jane frantically searching the morgue, cross-examining unwitting lab assistants as if they were guilty perps. They learned Maura had received a call to a scene and left the office, and they traced Maura's cellphone to a back alley in the city, which had thus far turned up no clues other than Maura's empty car and her iPhone. The forensic team was still going over everything but preliminary findings showed the kidnapper had been careful about leaving behind no traces.

Jane took a deep breath, shook her head once more and rolled her shoulders backwards. "I need to get back to the scene and look at everything again. Maybe something will stick out that I didn't see before. You coming?" She pointed at her younger brother as she hurried to grab her coat off the back of her chair. "Yeah, of course, Janie."

As the two Rizzolis hurried out of the squad room, Frankie looked back at Nina and mouthed the words "thank you" as his sister pulled him on to the elevator.

* * *

She had recognized him the minute he had spoken to her. He was wearing a mask, had only said two words and she had never heard his voice so low or menacing before, but still she recognized it immediately. Her genius mind raced as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Why would he do this to her? What did he want with her? Or from her?

For the moment, she decided to keep the fact that she knew his identity to herself. He hadn't removed his black hood or mask, even after they'd long been out of the city and there was no one around to see his face except Maura. She could only imagine he was trying to keep himself hidden from her as well. He had spoken – more like growled – once, as he held a sharp blade to her pulse point, when after driving for 3 hours and 46 minutes he had pulled over to the side of the nearly deserted road they were travelling. When he had opened the driver's side door to get out, no overhead light had come on, and they remained in total darkness. He had gotten out of the car and immediately back in again, this time sliding into the back seat next to Maura, slowly placing his gloved hand on Maura's trembling knee while his other hand pressed a No. 23 surgical blade to her neck. "Be good," he had snarled, the "or else" implied by his tone and gestures. It almost seemed forced, like he was trying his hardest to appear as intimidating as possible. An act, almost. _Too_ dramatic. It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough for Maura's incredible brain to recognize the voice pattern and accent. Her eyes opened wide with recognition and then confusion, and she turned her head quickly but carefully to the side, hoping to hide her realization from her captor. Luckily he mistook her shock for fear.

After once again climbing out of the car, he opened the trunk and Maura could hear the sloshing of liquid and then what sounded like refilling the gas tank. Since they were quite clearly nowhere near a gas station, Maura could only imagine that he had brought along fuel cans in the trunk. Trying to ignore the obvious danger that riding in a car full of combustible, flammable liquid entailed, Maura realized the implications. He was being careful – he knew that sooner or later he would have all of BPD mobilized and hunting him, and places like gas stations and convenience stores always had surveillance cameras.

When he got back in, he said nothing, turning the key in the ignition and continuing on their drive. Maura could see the car's red LED clock on the dashboard from where she was tied up in the back seat and had been counting every minute, trying to memorize every turn they had made, any landmark or road marker she could make out at the exact time they appeared. He had taken her at exactly 11:23pm. After less than an hour, they were already far outside of the city and beyond any place she could recall having been. It was all back roads and small towns, in the middle of the night when few people were out.

Until now, Maura hadn't allowed herself to think about anything other than the methodical observation, categorization and memorization of her surroundings. Not because she truly believed that remembering every possible detail would make much difference in her current situation, but because she was too aware of the fact that if she _did_ allow herself to think – let her mind process everything that was happening, all that had happened in the past day leading up to this moment, her thoughts would inevitable wind up at Jane. Now, with the knowledge of her captor's identity, she tried desperately to come up with some reason, some explanation for all of this. If she could decipher his motives, she could try to devise a plan to get herself out. But for the moment, she remained quiet, afraid that if she spoke, she'd give herself away. He'd never seemed violent, but obviously Maura didn't know him as well as she thought, and she avoided provoking him. For now, she wanted him to think that everything was going as he had so carefully planned it.

At 3:51am, after 4 hours and 28 minutes, a small green sign welcomed them to New York, The Empire State. Maura had almost missed it in the pitch dark outside her travelling prison. She was tired – no, exhausted – but she willed herself to stay awake and as aware of her surroundings as possible. She wasn't in any real pain, but her position had become increasingly more uncomfortable as they drove further and further from Boston. He had duct-taped her arms tightly together at the wrist, though at least, she thought, in front of her, which she knew made her forced position a bit more bearable. She knew he knew that too. Her legs were bound in two places, at the ankles and just above the knees, and her arms had been thoroughly restrained to her torso, layers of thick silver tape winding around her biceps and chest and back. He had strapped her into the seat behind the passenger's side, the seatbelt buckle modified so that the two parts could be joined together by a padlock. For some reason, he had not covered her mouth or eyes, and Maura silently thanked heavens for this.

At 5:38am, Maura's mind and body were both at their limits. She ached, desperate to stand or stretch or even just bend her legs a little. She could no longer compel herself to keep track of what passed by outside her window, and she badly wanted to just shut her eyes and give in to the pull of fatigue. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window, her warm breath escaping through slightly parted lips to form tiny wreaths of fog which disappeared and reappeared again each time she inhaled and exhaled. Maura wasn't sure how she was going to get through this. She had read countless articles about the psychology of abduction. On paper, she knew what you were supposed to do in these kinds of situations. But she doubted her ability to do it. Maura had never seen herself as a particularly strong person, deep down she had always felt a bit… fragile… weak. She compensated by dressing and acting the part, and honestly, a good pair of heels and a smart yet sexy pencil skirt always made her feel more confident. But her real confidence in herself - that had only come when she met and befriended Jane Rizzoli.

Before Jane, Maura had never really known what it was like to have someone who believed in her. Her parents loved her in their way, but it always seemed like all her accomplishments fell just short of their expectations. Even when she had become a doctor, most parents' dream, her choice to work with the dead instead of the living had been, Maura knew, a disappointment. And real friends were something Maura had never bothered with. She didn't understand people, and worse, they never understood her. She was weird, awkward, a freak even.

Then Jane came along and saw past the quirks and the social missteps and really got Maura. Somehow, that unruly, spirited detective had been the best cure for her own self-doubts. It was as if Maura felt that, with Jane on her side, she could finally start tackling those doubts on her own. She began to see herself the way Jane saw her – not as the cold and creepy Queen of the Dead (a name which Jane had outlawed the first time she heard it with a school-yard fight threat to the next person she heard say those words), but as an incredibly talented, incredibly insightful and caring woman who just needed a little nudge every now and then. When Jane was around, Maura felt more secure in herself.

And now Jane wasn't here. Maura didn't know how to be without Jane. It was the most uncomfortable feeling she had ever experienced.

Jane. Jane had called her just seconds before she was taken. Did Jane know? Was she calling to warn her? Were they already looking for her? Was Jane even okay? Had he somehow gotten to her too? Maura could feel her pulse quicken and tried to push these preoccupations from her mind, but she quickly gave up trying to keep herself from thinking about her best friend any longer. An image of her detective, a bit weary and shaken, flattened out on the ash-blue couch in Maura's office, legs sprawled and arms crossed over her stomach, her Jane's head rested against the back of the sofa in a sign of total defeat, flashed in Maura's mind. She thought of their conversation, of how she had tried and failed to get Jane to open up. She replayed it over and over in her mind. How she wished now that she had caught Jane's arm as she had got up to leave, convinced her to stay with her.

The sun was just starting to peak out from below the horizon and the sky lightened ever so slightly. Maura kept imagining herself back in Boston, back in her office, with Jane, before all of this had happened. Something she said back there stuck out to her now. It was something she had said to Jane, for Jane, but now, she thought, perhaps she needed to follow her own advice. Maybe, just maybe she could get through this by doing exactly what she had told the detective to do nearly 12 hours earlier.

* * *

As Detective and officer Rizzoli sped towards the scene of Maura's last known whereabouts, the first rays of sunlight bled into the deep-blue morning sky. Jane replayed Maura's words over in her head. " _Maybe it would help if you… lean into the discomfort."_

Yes. Lean in. That was exactly what she was going to. Lean in to all this discomfort, the pain and guilt and panic; she was not going to let it cloud her judgement, but use it to fuel her search for her missing best friend. And she _was_ going to find her, damn it.

* * *

 **Edited to add author's note: this is my first ever fanfic, so any reviews, criticisms, or suggestions are gladly appreciated. I'm not sure how long this will be, just started writing it this afternoon on a whim, but I promise to update it and/or give it a decent conclusion, 'cause I hate fics that leave you hanging. :-) Please forgive any mistakes (or rather, point them out and I'll update to fix them!)**


	2. The Bait

In the early morning hours after Maura's abduction, Jane and Frankie's sweep of the crime scene revealed a stroke of serious luck. Providentially, the new owner of the block of derelict buildings across from the alleyway had installed motion-activated security cameras on the property on the same day Maura had been taken. The city had sold the abandoned, run-down structures for cheap to a real estate developer looking to literally turn rags into riches (urban warehouse lofts with high ceilings were all the rage these days), and since every so often a group of kids liked to use the place as a late-night hang-out, they had opted to install the cameras for legal and liability purposes. Jane's instincts screamed that Maura's kidnapper was the same arsonist and stalker who had been taunting Jane, and she knew he was painstakingly meticulous and careful in his attention to all details. So how could he have overlooked this? But the sale of the buildings the previous week had not yet been made public, and the cameras were installed in the late afternoon, so they hadn't been there when he scouted the location one last time before show-time the morning of the abduction.

Jane thanked God for this bit of luck, or fate, she didn't know and she really didn't care. Jane nearly cried out when, upon reviewing the tapes, one revealed a black sedan pulling into the alleyway trailing Maura's Prius. A camera which had been placed high on a ledge offered a view of the front of the car as it drove in, but because of the angle and the low-resolution of the image, they couldn't get a good look at the driver other than that there seemed to be a dark hat or hood covering his (or her? but Jane had a gut feeling there was a man behind all of this) face.

Jane had watched that tape a hundred times over the last few days, but it offered nothing more than what Nina had initially gathered – make and model of the abductor's car, a partial plate, a time stamp indicating the exact time of Maura's kidnapping, and the direction the car turned as it left the purview of the camera. Unfortunately (or perhaps, for Jane's sanity, fortunately), there were no cameras aimed towards the alley, and so they could only suppose what had happened there. But they knew with certainty that she had indeed been taken out of that alley in the vehicle, as the same camera that had captured the grainy image of their suspect on his way in also showed someone - a small, dark silhouette which hadn't been there before - sitting upright in the back seat as it drove off. Maura, no doubt.

No, no. The cameras did offer one more piece of information – the most important one of all: Maura had been taken out of that alley _alive_. Jane counted this as a blessing amongst all this perdition.

From there, Nina and Frankie and 3 of his buddy patrol officers had spent hours upon hours diligently combing through the maze of Boston's streets, locating every last traffic, security and surveillance camera, trying to piecemeal together a map of the route the perp had taken. It wasn't easy, as they quickly realized that the kidnapper was purposely doubling back, driving in a distorted and confusing pattern, making a right turn and moments later, reappearing at the same intersection only to go left. But on Day Two, they were fairly certain that he had driven Maura out of the city sometime within an hour of taking her, and that they were headed somewhere west.

A quick scan of the state's DMV databases, running the partial against the car's color and model revealed only four possible registered vehicles. Jane had personally made a visit to two of the owners, ruling them both out rather quickly. One was a florist who lived outside of Medford, and who had been out to dinner and a show with her husband downtown the night Maura was taken. Footage from the parking garage showed her car had been in the same place till shortly after midnight. The second was a college kid from Lancaster who had another solid alibi.

The other two vehicles were registered to one Willie Maples and to one Stephen J. Crawley. They had sent local police to investigate the former, who had an address listed in Raynham, and got word that everything checked out. The latter, however, was a recently divorced, high profile corporate defense lawyer who was known for his shrewdness. He had gotten some big name businesses out of some big time trouble, and was much despised (or admired, depending on who you asked). Jane and Korsak had brought him in for questioning, but he knew the system. Once he realized he was being looked at for the disappearance of Boston's top ME, he quickly shut his mouth and lawyered up. Jane was initially suspicious, but the more she delved into it, she couldn't find a motive or connection between either her or Maura and this man. She nevertheless kept a close eye on him, demanding the Captain assign officers to detail him night and day. He hadn't been anywhere out of the ordinary, so if he had Maura stashed somewhere, he hadn't been to see her since. That worried Jane.

It was getting late. Maura had been missing for nearly 48 hours already and Jane had spent the whole second day pouring herself over every detail of the lawyer's life when she finally allowed herself to admit that maybe – _maybe_ – he wasn't her guy after all. True, he hadn't been cooperative once he realized what Jane's aim was, but before that, he also _hadn't_ shown any signs of recognizing Jane, and had freely made small talk with her about the Sox as she walked him into the precinct. Jane was usually good at reading people.

So at half past ten in the evening, Jane slammed the folder which contained Mr. Crawley's records shut. "I don't know," she said out loud, to no one in particular. Korsak, who was sitting at his desk, looked up at her over the rims of his glasses. "What are you thinking, Rizzoli?"

"I just don't get it. Why would this guy have any beef with me or Maura? He's got a whole lot to lose from this and I don't see what he has to gain. I can find nothing – no old case, a client, a judge, his gardener, the neighbor boy who walks his dog – _nothing_ ," she repeated, "that connects him to this or us. He's a sleaze ball, don't get me wrong, and he knows how to play the game, but I just can't find anything to connect the dots." Jane sighed, rubbing with her thumb and forefinger at the dark circles which had formed under her eyes.

"Me either," Korsak responded, taking off his glasses and resting them gingerly on the stack of papers on his desk. "I hate to say it Jane, but…"

"I know." Jane held up her hand. "I know," she said again, softer this time. They were both worried that they were coming to a dead end so soon. Nina and Frankie were still working on their part, but once the car had left the city, all traces of it had for all accounts and purposes vanished. They had of course immediately put out a BOLO, and every officer in the state was on high alert for a car or passengers matching the description. The Captain had even contacted neighboring State Troopers who had promised to be on the lookout too. But so far, nada.

Korsak ran his hand over his moustache and beard, then squeezed his jaw. "Jane, maybe you should get some sleep, just a few hours in the cribs," he said, but it was more of a question. He knew before the words came out what Jane's reaction would be, but he had to try anyway.

"No. I can't Vince. I just… I can't."

Korsak didn't push. Honestly, he couldn't sleep either. He certainly wasn't as close with Dr. Isles as Jane was, but they were nonetheless good friends, and over the years had formed a hodge-podge family of sorts. Their bond had been solidified over many a Sunday lunch together at the Doc's house, prepared by Angela Rizzoli. He couldn't bear to think of Maura in any danger, and he was currently fighting to keep his own demons at bay – the ones from years ago when Jane herself had been held against her will. In a small way, he could empathize with his ex-partner. He knew firsthand what it was like to worry in this way about someone you care for deeply.

"Okay. But I can't sit at this desk any longer." Korsak stood slowly from his post. "Can we at least get out of here for bit? I don't care where we go. You decide."

"Yeah actually, I was thinking…" Jane trailed off, shuffling through the mess of files in front of her. She rooted around and finally dug up the piece of paper she had been looking for. "What do you say about a drive to Raynham?" she queried, leaning back in her chair as she pushed against her desk.

"What's in Raynham?"

"That's where the last guy on our DMV list lives. Maples… " Jane looked down at the paper in her hand, "Willie Maples."

"I thought he checked out?" Korsak questioned, his expression puzzled.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, he did, according to the local PD. But I want to check him out myself. I would have done it earlier, but I really thought Crawley was our guy for a moment there and was busy with him." Jane shook her head. "If you're up for it, I wanna go take a second look."

"Sure," Korsak returned voluntarily, "but what do you plan on doing this late at night? We can't go knocking on this man's door at…" Korsak paused, checked his watch, then made a mental estimate of roughly how long it would take them to drive to Raynham, "close to midnight."

"I'll knock on whoever's door, whenever I have to, if it means finding her." That came out harsher than Jane had meant. She immediately eased up. "But no, I'm not planning on busting in on the guy in his PJs. Not yet. Just want to talk to the officers who checked him out, see what they found. Maybe drive by his house?" Jane threw her hands up to the side in surrender. "I don't know what else to do, Vince."

"Alright then, let's go. You pull the car up. I'll tell Frankie where we're headed and meet you down there." Korsak underhanded a set of keys to Jane and smiled slightly at the detective. Jane nodded back, thankful for this man who was willing to come with her on a wild goose chase if it meant getting Maura Isles back.

* * *

Maura sat on the dirt floor, legs out in front of her, her knees slightly bent towards the ceiling. Her back was pressed softly against a damp cement wall, as straight as she could manage. She hugged a square pillow to her chest with one arm and tried to control her breathing.

She was fairly certain she had a fractured _costa_. Most likely the eighth or ninth, she had concluded, after delicately walking the skilled fingers of her left hand down the right side of her rib cage, pressing down tenderly to locate the exact source of the pain. It hurt unbelievably to move, even breathe, which was why she was now holding the extra padding gently to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking air steadily in through her teeth, counting slowly to ten as she inhaled and then back down to one as she released. In spite of the searing discomfort, she knew that in order to prevent any complications, especially pneumonia, she had to force herself to take ten deep breaths every hour while awake, being careful not to over-exert herself. As she counted through her pain, she reminded herself that the piercing, burning sensations currently travelling from her nociceptors via the dorsal horn in her spinal cord to her thamalus and beyond, were indeed a positive sign. That is to say, the fact that her brain was still actively registering pain meant she… was still alive. And that _was_ good.

Maura looked around the small, dim space she was now currently entrapped in. The walls were made of cinderblocks, stacked high in a rectangular shape, and the gaps between them as well as the hollow insides of the blocks had been filled in with concrete. The room was perhaps 15 feet by 10 feet (roughly 4 and half by 3 meters, Maura calculated), and the roof was nothing more than sheets of undulating, corrugated metal fastened to a decaying grid-work of thick wooden beams. During the day, sunlight snuck in through the curved gaps under the wavy edges of the roof, for which Maura was grateful, as there were no other windows or sources of light in her cell. The one way in and out was the solid metal door in one of the shorter walls, which Maura could tell by the paint that was chipping and flaking off had once been a sort of dark orange-yellow hue. She sat facing the only exit, unable to take her eyes off it.

Next to her, a thin flat mattress lay on the dirt floor, a worn-out comforter squarely tucked in and turned down over it. Maura had never gone a day in her life without making the bed she slept in. On those rare occasions that Maura spent the night at Jane's, her detective friend lovingly teased that her bed was going to feel "suffocated" as she watched Maura expertly rearrange the sheets and pillows, smoothing out all the wrinkles.

On either side of the door were two large plastic buckets, both covered by slabs of wood. One top of one – the bucket which was half-filled with water – there was a bright yellow sponge. Other than that, the only other objects in the space besides Maura herself were her black Italian leather zip-up boots, placed on their side at the foot of the makeshift "bed", and Maura's heather-grey blazer neatly folded and resting on top of the boots.

Maura figured she'd been missing for a right around two days by now. They had driven through Massachusetts, briefly through New York and in to Pennsylvania, only stopping that once early on for her kidnapper to refuel. Neither of them had used the restroom or eaten since they started their journey almost 8 hours prior, and though she was starting to feel small pangs of hunger, she was glad that she had long ago learned to control her body's needs and impulses. It had been a useful skill with parents who sometimes became so engrossed in grant writing or charity work that they neglected to think of their young daughter. And Maura had truly hated to bother them, so she learned to wait as long as she could – to put whatever she needed out of mind until one or the other parent stirred from their trance and tended to her.

When the sun finally rose the morning after her abduction, and more people and cars began to occupy the side roads they were travelling, her captor had stopped the car for a second time. Again he slid into the seat next to Maura, and this time, without a word, had produced a 28 gauge needled syringe from a small black kit and dexterously stuck the tip into Maura's neck. She had no time to think, to react, before she felt the effects of what she imagined (hoped!) to be a sedative slide over her senses and pull her towards unconsciousness. It was quick acting, and Maura tried to fight it, but in less than a minute she was out. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was him covering her with a blanket. How odd, she mused, her muddled brain interpreting this act as some kind of compassion. Had she been more aware, she would have quickly realized that he had done this so that, to anyone who might have caught a glimpse of the woman in the back seat, it looked as if she were merely taking a nap.

When she did come to, Maura's world was upside down, literally. As she struggled to get her bearings, she looked up to see her hair standing straight on its end in front of her face and the… ground passing above her? She shut her eyes tight again and tried to focus, but the sound of blood rushing in her ears made it impossible. When she opened them again, she thought she could make out the back of someone's legs mid-stride. A few more moments passed before Maura finally regained her senses completely, and it dawned on her then that she was being carried, tossed over someone's shoulder. She mentally inventoried her physical state, and quickly realized her arms and legs were no longer bound. Her wrists were still taped together, but otherwise she was free, except of course for that this man had both his arms wrapped tightly just above her waist. She tried to turn her head up and around so that she could see him without giving away the fact she was now awake, but could only get a look at his broad shoulders and the back of his neck. He wasn't, she instantly noted, wearing the hood or the mask, which to her could only mean two things: 1) he was no longer concerned about Maura recognizing him, or 2) he hadn't expected her to come around this soon. In either case, Maura thought her best chances were to play opossum, and hope he bought the act.

He carried her perhaps another minute before stopping. Maura could feel him jostling around a bit and heard the sound of keys clanking together and then the slow, heavy, mechanical thhhhck of a key turning in a dead bolt. Maura opened her eyes one last time, trying to get the best look she could of where on earth he had taken her, but all she saw was gravel and a patch of grass and beyond that, what she thought were trees. Lots of trees. Then he stepped into a room and the light disappeared as he spun around and she heard the creaking of a door being closed on rusty hinges. She quickly shut her eyes again, stilling her heart and evening out her breathing as much as possible.

He set her down carefully on the mattress, and Maura let her legs fall limply and awkwardly where he laid her, like a discarded ragdoll. She willed herself not to move, even though she felt… vulnerable. Exposed, all splayed out that way, eyes closed but her mind fully conscious of the position she was in. Since she couldn't watch, she listened, and she distinctly picked up the sound of his footsteps as he walked away from her, opened the door once more, and exited. She could hear the gravel outside crunch under his shoes. Maura dared to lift one eyelid ever so imperceptibly, and found, thankfully, that she was alone. What was more, she could see a wedge of light coming in from where the door had be left just slightly ajar.

Was he testing her? Or did he really think she was still under the effects of the drug he had given her?

Maura weighed her options. This could be her only chance. If he really wasn't aware that Maura was conscious, then she could make an attempt to escape. It was an enormous risk, she knew that, but she felt compelled to _do_ something. So far she had only been a powerless bystander in this whole ordeal. Maybe it was now or never. But what if he was waiting for her just outside the door? So far, besides the very first threat he had made, which had seemed more bark than bite, he had been more or less indifferent to Maura. Yes, he had bound her and kidnapped her, but he hadn't been overtly violent. She was afraid to provoke him all the same, as more than anything he seemed highly unstable psychologically. He had to be, to do something like this.

Maura wasn't sure what to do, and she knew that the longer she debated it internally, the more her possible chance at freedom drifted away from her. " _What would Jane do?_ " she considered. Jane - Jane would run the first chance she got. Jane would have taken her captor by surprise, started kicking and fighting the moment she woke up in his arms, and by sheer strength and willpower Maura was certain Jane would have escaped him. But Maura wasn't Jane. She didn't have Jane's police training, her physicality or build. She also didn't have Jane's courage. Jane was the kind of person that leapt off bridges without a second thought, while Maura had remained immobile and watched helplessly, only able to stand there as a _million_ unbearable thoughts ran through her mind the second Jane went over the ledge. No, Maura couldn't do what Jane does.

Her mind was made up for her then when she heard him coming back in her direction, and she relaxed her eyelids. He entered the room, and it seemed from the sounds he was making like he was moving things around. She could hear something hollow and plastic knocking against more plastic, and then a low bubbling which slowly rose in pitch, what sounded to her like a lot of water being poured into a container. And then, once more, without a word, he left, leaving the door half closed and unlocked on his way out again.

Maura opened her eyes to a black tripod leaning against one wall, as well as a bucket and some small boxes of various shapes that hadn't been there previously. This was it, she thought. He obviously had been bringing these things from wherever they were stored and had genuinely trusted that Maura was out to the world. It was strange, knowing him, that he could have incorrectly calculated the dosage or the length of time it would stay in effect, but she pushed these thoughts out of her mind as she made the mindful decision to roll on to her side and use her bound hands to leverage herself into an upright position. Her whole body trembled, the direct result, Maura understood, of her hypothalamus triggering the pituitary release of the hormone ACTH, which in turn caused the adrenal glands in her kidneys to unleash adrenaline into her bloodstream.

She stood slowly but resolutely, squinting in the relative darkness of the space. And then, truly _leaning_ _in_ to all the fear, self-doubt, and uncertainty that pulled at her, she took a small step forward, then another, and another, until she was standing directly behind the door. She placed her ear against the cool metal and stilled her lungs and heart, focusing on the sounds coming from the opposite side. Wind. The distinct rustling of leaves. The chirrup of a bird who couldn't be more than 10 yards away from where she stood. But no footsteps. No. Footsteps. "Move, Maura _,_ " she whispered aloud herself, and without giving herself time to second-guess her actions, she leaned around and through the opening, poking her head out of the doorway. Her eyes darted over the scene before her franticly, and relief washed over in waves as she realized her captor was nowhere in sight. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and, emboldened, slipped through the opening in the door, careful not to make it swing in either direction on its oxidized hinges.

And just like that, she was out. She was free. Free. _Run, Maura. Move_. Her mind jolted her into reaction and her feet started moving of their own will, carrying Maura as fast and as nimbly away from her prison and captor as she had ever moved in her life. She had no idea where she was but instinct told her to just run, put as much distance between him and her as she could. Headed straight for the row of trees at the edge of a thick wood, Maura actually felt like this might not have been some desperate, crazy act. Maybe she really was going to get out. She was flying.

She felt it before she heard it. The deep boom of his voice as he bellowed, distraught, "STOP!" He was behind her, there was distance between them – not enough, she cringed, but maybe – and she kept moving forward, the legs that had carried her across many a marathon finish line now drawing on muscle memory, propelled not by some faculty in her brain but by the feeling in her gut that told her her life really did depend on it.

Thundering footsteps, gaining on her. Maura tried to run faster, but with her arms tied unnaturally together, she couldn't swing them to propel her forward. Her chest heaved. _Move, Maura._

The snapping of twigs, closer still. He roared again, "Stop, Dr. Isles! No! This is not the way! Not. Like. This!" and with the last word, she could practically feel his breath on her back as his longer legs closed the final gap between them. In an instant, she slammed into the dirt and leaves face down, unable to brace her fall, smacking her chin on a rock. Warm blood trickled instantly. Her back ached too and a heavy weight pinned her. She could feel his entire body shaking as he grabbed furiously at her shoulders, and then he was flipping her underneath him to face up, straddling her thighs as she kicked and flailed.

"Please," she begged, and it came out in an agonized whimper. "Please, please. Please." Tears were, for the first time she realized, streaming down her cheeks. She brought her gaze up to his face and when she did, she regretted it instantly. Yes, his features were those of the man whose voice she'd recognized. It was him, no doubt. But the expression on his face was foreign - wild, deranged, and… enraged.

"It can't happen like this!" he spit as he seethed. "Not. You." And through her tears Maura tried but failed to comprehend something of his rant.

She opened her mouth, ready to plead and bargain and entreat him to come to his senses, to not do this, but all that escaped her lips was a deep, guttural mmmffff as once, then twice, his knee made sudden forceful contact with her right side. "Don't. Talk, " he commanded and Maura couldn't have if she'd wanted to, only able to gasp for air. She wasn't sure if it was the physical blow or the panic that was suffocating her, but she was certain death wasn't far off.

He leaned down now, bringing his face within a few inches of hers. "Not you, Dr. Isles. You can't do this. Don't you understand?" He wasn't shouting anymore, but the venom in his voice was still present. "Not. You. Jane. Jane has to do this. Not you."

After that, he had picked Maura unceremoniously off the ground and dragged her back towards her cage by her linked forearms. He panted heavily and shook his head repeatedly, trying to regain his composure, Maura thought. In the short time it took to reach the cell, Maura watched as the fury and madness dissipated from his eyes, and he almost looked familiar again. The nearly instant change from irate to calm and collected unsettled Maura to her core. He was volatile, unpredictable, and Maura Isles was a person whose life had been ruled by facts and predictable outcomes. She was at a loss with how to handle him, this situation, any of it. She contemplated saying something, but even had she known what, the overwhelming pain in her side kept her silent.

A few feet from the prison door, a handful of boxes lay haphazardly on the gravel, their contents spilled out in all directions. He leaned down to pluck something from the mess, swinging it back and forth on his index finger in front of Maura. She recognized the black ski mask he had worn in the car. "Guess I won't be in need of this, eh?" he joked nonchalantly, and his grin made Maura sick.

He had lead Maura back into the room, making a show of locking the door securely behind him this time. Flipping an empty bucket on its mouth, he indicated for Maura to sit down, and he quickly set up the tripod, snapping a few pictures of Maura against the cinderblock backdrop. "She'll go crazy over these," he murmured giddily, and Maura's heart stopped.

He didn't have to say who "she" was. Maura knew. Maura knew and it made her physically nauseous. She had of course hypothesized that he was also the one behind the watch and the arson, but this along with his damning confession out in the woods sealed Maura's dread. Maura was just another pawn. Jane – her tough, tenacious, fierce best friend – was the real target. He was using Maura to get to Jane. Maura doubled over instantly, a searing pain tearing through her side as she felt the acidic burn of stomach bile rising through her throat, heaving up and out.

* * *

Her failed escape had happened on the evening of the first day after her abduction. Night had come quickly and the next day passed, nothing occurred except for the two times he had come back, bringing Maura something to eat and waiting while she finished so he could take her plate and utensils out with him. She barely ate - she was constantly nauseous and, even had her appetite returned, she was afraid of what damage she'd do to her injured rib if she vomited again.

Both times he had come, his face was unreadable. The stoic, detached expression he wore seemed practiced. He simply stood, studying his captive, and said nothing. Maura didn't speak either. A part of her had wanted, desperately, to coax some justification from him. She was never one to let anything rest, she had always been driven by an innate need to _understand_. But her desire for answers was overridden by pride. She wasn't going to give him the pleasure of watching her supplicate another time. That, coupled with the belief that any attempt at reasoning would be futile, kept her silent. So she used every ounce of strength and will power she had in her to ignore his presence in this tiny prison cell with her. Thankfully, his visits were brief and infrequent. Only on the first morning in her cell, the second morning after her disappearance, after collecting the still-full bowl of luke-warm soup he he had cut the tape from Maura's wrists, allowing her to clean the deep cut on her chin and the blood from her neck with a sponge and water from the bucket he kept half-full – enough for Maura to drink, or wash herself with, but not enough to drown in.

And now, two days in, Maura sat leaning against the wall, fear and guilt picking away at her. She was the bait. He was hunting, Jane was his prey and he was using Maura to lure her in. As much as Maura prayed and hoped that Jane wouldn't, she knew. She was certain in every fiber of her being. She knew her Jane and she knew beyond all doubt that Jane _would_ come for her, Jane _would_ find her. And he would be waiting.

* * *

 **Author's note, feel free to skip: THANK YOU for your fantastic reviews and follows. I can't believe what a quick and positive response this has received! Hope Chapter 2 lived up to your expectations. I don't have a beta or proof-reader so please forgive any mistakes or typos. I had wanted to get further in the plot than this but it was already getting so long (I hope not too long) so I thought this was a good place to stop it for now. I'm not entirely happy with Maura's part, but I wanted to update, so I might come back and rewrite this later. I won't change the plot, just polish some things. Anyway, let me know about the pacing of this one - too slow? Too much detail?**

 **I was asked if this is going to be a Rizzles story. I mean, I absolutely believe these two super-brilliant and gifted ladies are soulmates, destined to be together come what may (who doesn't?). But for now at least the story is just going to focus on their insane connection to and** ** _need_** **for one another in order to survive (this ordeal, life in general) –** ** _when_** **that turns into a realization of a deeper kind for one or both of them is still to be determined, but it will happen in some form or another sooner or later (I even have the perfect inspiration song for it). This thing is just kind of writing itself for now, and I'm letting it go where it wants. Does that answer your question? :-X**

 **And, since I'm new to this, I have no idea if I'm actually legally obligated to post the disclaimer that these characters (clearly) are not my intellectual property. So here goes: none of it's mine.**

 **Again, I really do welcome any criticism, critiques, or suggestions. I'm shooting for as in-character and as much accuracy in the minutia as I can get (inconsistency irks me, but I'm definitely not a doctor), so if something doesn't match up right or you don't think one of the characters is believable, let me know. Or, anything else really.**


	3. Witness (Jane)

Jane and Korsak arrived in Raynham by half past eleven, and their first stop was the squat brick building which housed both the town's police as well as fire department. The cop on front desk duty was engrossed in some sort of matching game on his cellphone, and only looked up when Korsak loudly cleared his throat.

"Oh… uh… what – what can I do…"

Both Boston detectives held up their badges. Korsak extended his hand. "Lieutenant Vince Korsak. This is Detective Jane Rizzoli. BPD. We're here on a case involving a kidnapping."

The officer stood, shaking Korsak's hand briefly. "Oh yeah, that ME that was taken. Heard all about it on the 10 o'clock news." It's true, the disappearance of the state's chief Medical Examiner, not to mention one of Boston's most wealthy heiresses _and_ the daughter of the incarcerated mob king Paddy Doyle, had hit the front pages immediately. Jane had tried her best to keep it all under wraps, but without actual facts or statements from the police, the media had been left to run rampant with rumors and speculation, so earlier that afternoon, the Chief had been forced to release an official statement to the press. Not much information was given, other than confirming Dr. Isles' disappearance, expressing that, at the time, Paddy Doyle and his associates were not suspected to be involved, and promising that all of Boston's finest were on the case. Jane had refused to attend the press conference.

"Officer Harris," the young man responded eagerly, pointing to the tag clipped to his uniform. "Mark. How can I help you guys?"

"Well, Mark, we are looking into the identity of man who lives around here. He was on our list of registered vehicle owners that matched the description of the car we saw fleeing the scene. We called down here yesterday and asked your Sheriff to send someone to check on him. We're here to speak to whoever that was, see what we can find out," Jane stated directly. She wasn't impolite, but she wasn't asking for permission either.

"I think… yeah, that was McCormick and Pittman. They sent a report to you guys, I know. I faxed it myself." His look wasn't accusative, but rather inquiring. It's true, they had, but the information it contained was scarce. It merely confirmed that Mr. Maples did indeed have a residence in Raynham, and that the officers had confirmed his whereabouts at the time of the abduction. It was signed and stamped by the Sheriff and, as Jane had confessed to Korsak earlier, they hadn't given it a second look when it came in right in the middle of their interrogation of Crawley.

"We know," Korsak reassured. "We'd just like to talk to them in person, get the specifics."

Officer Harris nodded, looking down as he ran his finger the length of a list attached to a clipboard on his desk. "Yep, well, looks like you guys are actually in luck. Sean and J.D. …McCormick and Pittman," he gestured to indicate the former and the latter, "are on night patrol duty. Started their shift an hour ago. I can put a call out, see if they can't swing by here for a chat." Harris seemed happy to help, if a little unprepared. "It's usually pretty quiet around here," he offered, smiling earnestly.

"That'd be great, Mark. You'd be doing us a real favor," Korsak thanked him a bit over-enthusiastically. Jane wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, but Vince Korsak understood the power of compliments in these sorts of situations. Sometimes you really can catch more flies with honey.

Things began to precipitate from there. Jane and Korsak spoke with the officers who had been tasked with checking in on their suspect, and what they learned disconcerted them. Contrary to what the report had made it seem, they _hadn't_ actually talked to Mr. Maples himself. When they had gone by the address, Pittman recognized a boy from the local high school mowing the front lawn. "He said this Maples guy had paid him in advance to come by every two weeks and cut the grass, since he was going abroad and wouldn't be back for a few months," McCormick had explained. The officers had confirmed with the Post Office that around two months ago, Willie Maples had placed a hold on his mail delivery, saying he'd be travelling in Europe. They'd taken that as proof that Maples could not have been involved, since he was by all accounts out of the country at the time of Maura's disappearance.

"And you didn't think that was a little strange?!" Jane had exclaimed, slamming her palms down on the table in front of her. It was either that or punch these guys square in the jaw. Korsak put a calming hand on Jane's elbow but she shrugged him off, total disbelief etched on her face, as she continued shouting, "We're here looking for a psychopath kidnapper and you take the word of a teenaged boy and a mail clerk that this guy's just out of town. You got any proof? Plane tickets, travel records?! Did your tiny little pea-brains even stop to consider backing up their statements with evidence?" Jane was close to flying off the handle. Incompetence infuriated her, all the more so when her best friend's life was at stake.

Shortly after that, Jane had demanded to speak to the kid, right then and there. "I don't give a shit what time it is on a school night," she had barked at the Sheriff, who had been woken and summoned himself by a worried call from his deputy. "We've got a missing person," Jane huffed, "and that kid might be our only lead. I'm not wasting another second while you guys sit on your asses." She realized she might be over-reacting, that this wasn't the way to speak to the man in charge here, but this was Maura they were talking about, and she'd burn as many bridges as she had to and deal with the consequences later.

It worked. In less than a half an hour, shortly before 1 am, a tall, sleepy-eyed blond kid traipsed into the police department, accompanied by a very concern-stricken, anxious mother. "Jeff's a good kid, I don't understand what…" but Jane gently cut her off, her tone and demeanor softened instantly, assuring the woman that her son was not in any trouble whatsoever and that they were there because they needed his help, desperately. The sincere plea in Jane's eyes and voice must have been evident, because the woman consented to allow her son to be questioned, albeit with her and their long-time family friend Officer Pittman both by his side.

"Jeff, pal, look we're sorry about dragging you down here this late. But you might have some information that could help us save the life of a very exceptional woman. So anything you remember, anything at all, you gotta help us out. Okay dude?" Jane probed, trying to speak to the kid in front of her like she does her brothers – like a big sister, not some adult authority figure.

"I… I don't really know the guy. Honest," the kid professed, holding up his hands. "Like I told J.D., a couple a months ago he said he'd pay me to come by and mow his lawn every two weeks. He said he'd double the going rate - pay me half up front and half when he got back."

"Okay, wait, let's start there," Jane directed. "When did this happen? Did you know him already?"

"Nah. I was on my skateboard, heading over to Kyle's. He lives just down the street from the guy. He saw me going by and waved me over. And he was like 'I just inherited the house from some relative and I need someone to cut the grass'. I guess so he wouldn't get a ticket for an… ordinance violation, whatever that is. He pulled a roll of cash out right then and there, ma'am. What was I gonna do, say no? Not like I took candy from him or anything." He shrugged his shoulders the way kids do to imply "no big deal".

"Yeah, no, of course. I'd 've done the same thing, kid. Do you remember when exactly this happened?"

"I dunno… a couple a months ago at least. I've been over there four… no, five. Yeah, five times."

"Ok, and what can you tell us about Mr. Maples. Have you seen him since?"

"No. Just that once."

"Have you seen anyone else in or around that house since?" Jane reached for the phone in her pocket and pulled it out, setting in on the table in front of her.

"No ma'am. Just him, that once."

Jane swiped a finger across the screen of her smartphone and keyed in the password. She opened an app and quickly thumbed through a series of pictures, stopping when a close-up of the honey-blonde ME smiling radiantly illuminated the screen. She had taken the picture of her best friend at the annual BPD Fourth of July picnic. They had gone to the party together, even worn matching red-white-and-blue striped outfits that Maura had picked out for them, and had it been anyone other than Maura (like her Ma, or Frankie), she would have outright refused. But Maura had looked so genuinely excited at the prospect of dressing up together that Jane acquiesced instantly, outwardly still pretending that she was making a _huge_ sacrifice for her best friend, while deep down it really just made her inexplicably happy to be the reason Maura smiled like _that_. Jane's breath hitched at the flood of memories, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to try and regain her composure, setting the phone down on the table and sliding it over to the boy.

"And her. Have you ever seen her before?" She asked, almost too quietly.

Jeff studied the photo for just a second, and, sensing the gravity in Jane's tone, shook his head apologetically. "No, I'm sorry." He paused, and then, "Is that her? Is that the woman he took?"

At that moment, Korsak stepped in. "We don't know who it was that took her yet, but yes. She's the woman we're looking for." The room fell silent for what seemed like forever. All eyes were transfixed on the glowing picture of Maura on Jane's phone. Even to those who had never met her before, her physical beauty was undeniable. "She's really pretty." Jeff was the first to speak, and it shook Jane from her thoughts.

"Yeah, kid. Yeah she is." Then, clearing her throat, "Alright, just a few more questions, and then if you're up for it Jeff we'd like you to sit down with a sketch artist." Jeff nodded, all inklings of sleep long banished and replaced with intrigue at the mystery he had somehow gotten himself involved in. "Can you tell us what the guy looked like? Do you remember anything particular about the way he was dressed, how he looked, anything like that?"

"Yeah, actually," Jeff nodded. "He was wearing this fancy suit thing, I remember. It made me laugh when he told me his name was Willie, 'cause he really did sound just like Groundskeeper Willie. But like, he looked just the opposite. I thought it was funny."

"Groundskeeper who?" Korsak questioned.

"You mean that janitor from the Simpsons?" Jane pushed, her eyes lighting up, attention piqued. She didn't know why, but her gut told her this was important.

"Yeah, him. I dunno, I just thought it was funny, that's all. Groundskeeper Willie in a suit and tie." He chuckled to himself.

"He had an accent, you mean?" Jane continued, sitting up straight in her chair.

"Uh huh."

"What else? Any facial hair? Tattoos? Anything else you can remember?"

"Brown hair, I think. I don't remember if he had a moustache, but I think so. Maybe a little beard too, I don't know. It was a while ago. He looked young-ish. Like maybe, I dunno, thirty, thirty-five? I'm not that good with ages."

Whistles and bells sounded in Jane's head. By the way he was staring at her with wide eyes and an intense stare, Korsak heard them too. They both knew. The facts didn't match up. Until now, it was a fishing expedition, and on the drive down here they hadn't really believed they were going to catch anything worthwhile. But, the Willie Maples they had listed was supposed to be much older, middle-aged, and the accent was an unexpected detail, along with his alleged absence from the residence. The vague description sounded familiar, but Jane couldn't place it. Either way, her insides were on fire. Her spidey-sense was way past the tingling stage. It was like a hammer was pounding away on her brain. She had hooked the big one, her instincts told her, and she was desperately trying to reel it in. " _Don't let this one slip away from you, Jane_ ," was all she could think. She and Korsak exchanged vigilant looks.

"Whoa!" The kid's outburst interrupted their telepathy session. They both looked over to see he had taken the detectives phone in his hands and was pressing his thumb and forefinger to the screen, zooming in on something.

"What, kid, what is it?!" Jane nearly knocked her chair over as she stood and rushed around the table to stand behind her witness, staring at the photo he held up now, inspecting it closely.

"That… that's the guy. That's him, I'm sure of it," he exclaimed, pointing to a figure standing in the background.

Jane snatched the phone from the boy's hands and focused. In an instant she recognized him too. It all added up. "You sure?" she petitioned, but she already knew the kid was telling the truth.

"I swear. That's… that's definitely him. You know him?"

But Jane didn't answer him. She had already shoved the phone into Korsak's hands and bee-lined straight for the door of the conference room they had been interviewing the kid in. Vince was unsure whether to follow on her heels or stop to look at what had evoked such a response from his partner. He chose the latter, and sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose, tilted the screen back and forth in front of him until the photo came into focus. When it did, Vince Korsak did something he rarely ever does - he swore.

"Shit. Shit! That son of bitch!" and then he was out the door too, racing to catch up to Rizzoli who had commandeered the Sheriff's office and was using his secure line to, no doubt, call back to their precinct. He got to the door of the office just in time to hear Jane sob desperately into the receiver, fighting with her emotions to get some semblance of intelligible words from her mouth. "Frankie! Frankie, we know who took her. I know who it is! It's that fucking bastard Drake. Kent Drake."

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter is a lot shorter than I had originally planned and it doesn't tell Maura's side. But I already have it written and since I don't think I'll be able to get to Maura's part for a while, I wanted to post this now and get your feedback. So consider this Chapter 3 - Part 1. As always, I hope I've done them all justice. If you can, review and let me know what you think! Thank you all!**


	4. The Pleiades (Maura)

**A/N - Whew! This is definitely not what I had in mind when I sat down to write Maura's part. Anyway, this is what came out. I'm not sure how you'll feel about it- it might be a bit long-winded or rambling or fluffy. But though it's not what I intended to write, it means a lot to me, and I am going to leave it as is.**

 **So I apologize if this isn't what you guys were hoping for - not much plot action here but a bit of Maura/Jane back story. Please please please, if you have a second, review and let me know what you think of this chapter and the story in general. I'm loving writing this, but if I know there are people interested in reading it, I'll keep it going a bit longer, otherwise I'll find a way to wrap it up soon. Let me know!**

* * *

Maura was lying on her back on the flimsy mattress that counted as her bed in this squalid shack. By now it was late, Maura deduced from the mechanical, rhythmic whir of cicadas which filtered in through the small apertures beneath the roof. Staring up at the metal roof, Maura found herself imagining she was staring at the sky, at the stars. How she wished she could see them for real, even if just for a second. Whatever had happened to her in the past two days, whatever was going to happen to her tomorrow, Maura knew she could face it, if she could just get one more glimpse of the night sky she knew lay just on the other side of that sheet of tin.

* * *

Maura Isles had always been what some would call a "city girl", in the most refined of senses – Boston, New York, Paris, Geneva, London - those had been the places she had called home over the years. Not that she didn't enjoy being outdoors, but her exposure had been… limited. No childhood camping excursions, no family hikes, no cross-county road trips to discover America's wild backyard. What she knew of plants and wildlife had mostly come from educational trips to botanical and zoological gardens, or from books and documentaries. Her closest contact with nature as a child had been on a high school graduation gift from her parents, Constance and Arthur Isles – a six day father-daughter safari in Kenya. Maura had been thrilled, and spent the weeks before the trip researching the local flora and fauna, even purchasing a very expensive leather-bound sketchbook she planned to fill with all her observations and drawings. But really what had excited her the most was the prospect of spending almost an entire week in her father's company.

Then, on only the second day of their vacation, her father received word that conflict had broken out in Tanzania where his aid group was stationed and his assistance was direly needed. With haste apologies and promises to make it up to her, he had arranged for Maura to be accompanied to the airport where she would be flown back to Paris on a private flight. Then he chartered the first plane he could to take him to the border. Disappointed but ever-accommodating, a young Maura had not protested, making the trip back to their family's summer apartment in Paris by herself. As the moderate-sized but rather luxurious aircraft taxied to the runway, Maura had stared out at the barren, sun-scorched red earth, fingering the heavy pages of the book she was clutching, nearly all still blank except for the first five she had used to make meticulously accurate sketches of the plants she had found on their first day around their lodge. Underneath each one was a short but detailed description and the Latin name written out in beautiful cursive. There, alone yet again for what seemed like the millionth time in her short eighteen years, Maura had not been able to will away the tears as her plane finally took off, and she let them fall freely, smudging some of the pencil sketches.

Maura had all but forgotten about that sketchbook until one Friday afternoon. Half of Maura's closet was laid out on her bed, hangers littering the floor.

"Maura, seriously, you can't pack any of this stuff," Jane had objected, lifting a pair of black dress slacks which probably cost more than Jane's rent from the pile.

"But what if…" Maura had begun to postulate, and Jane laughed, cutting her off.

"Maura, we're going _camp-ing_. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to need _these_ ," Jane deadpanned, dropping them back to the bed, then waving her hand in a wide arc, "or, any of these. If we get chased by a bear, you aren't going to get very far. Think sweat pants, t-shirts, jeans, ya know? The stuff normal people wear?"

Had it come from anyone but Jane, or had it been said to her years ago, that comment might have stung a bit. But years of friendship with the detective had all but cured her of that insecurity, of wanting to and never quite being able to feel "normal". It had been ages since those fears of being different had creeped into her psyche, and though she hadn't ever really taken the time to discover _why_ that was, the fact remained that ever since she and Jane has struck up their unlikely friendship, she was a more confident, self-assured version of herself.

"I suppose I could bring my exercise clothes," she said agreeably, as she turned towards her dresser, opening a drawer to pull out a stack of neatly folded track-suit bottoms and matching tops.

"Ah, there we go. Now you're getting it, Maur!" Jane had laughed sarcastically, lightly slapping her friend on the back. Jane stepped over to the built-in bookcase in Maura's bedroom and half-heartedly perused the titles while Maura continued with her packing. It had been Maura's idea to go on this camping trip together one night when they had been watching a Discovery Channel special on the Adirondack Mountains. Neither had ever been before, and it only took Maura a little pestering and bartering to convince Jane to take her camping there the following spring. Jane wasn't really an expert on the great outdoors either, considering herself the other kind of "city girl" – the kind that played a pick-up game of stickball in the middle of the road with the neighborhood kids, who scraped her knees on asphalt and played in open fire hydrants during hot, sticky summers. That said, though, she had been a Sprout Trooper for a few years as a girl, and also had spent a few miserable rainy weekends camped out in the middle of nowhere in their family's RV. It wasn't so much the being-out-in-nature-part which made those low-budget Rizzoli family vacations unbearable as it was the being-cooped-up-in-a-cramped-space part while Tommy and Frankie rough-housed and her parents bickered. Still, on those rare afternoons that the rain let up, she _had_ had a fun time gallivanting around in the woods near the lake, pretending to be Crocodile Jane-dee, though she'd die before she would admit it now.

Scanning the exposed spines of Maura's bedroom library, Jane skipped over anything she couldn't pronounce or didn't know the meaning of, her eyes stopping to land on one without any writing on it. She slid it out a ways to peek at its cover, and was surprised to find there was nothing written on the front as well. Pulling it all the way out from its place, she turned towards her best friend. "Hey Maur', what kind of book doesn't have a name?" she teased jocularly, holding it up so Maura could see.

Jane didn't miss it when the genuine smile which had immediately illuminated Maura's face upon seeing the familiar sketchbook faltered just briefly. Jane watched as Maura shook her head ever-so-imperceptibly, smiling again and standing up to cross the room and stand at Jane's side.

"That's because it's not a normal book, Jane," she offered warmly, ghosting her hand along the leather edge. "Open it."

Jane's curiosity kindled, she flipped the front cover to reveal the first page of intricate, beautiful pencil drawings, and she instantly recognized the writing beneath each one as Maura's. "Did you do these?" she said as she drew in a breath, clearly in awe of her friend's hidden talent. _How many things did she still not know about this extraordinary woman?_ Jane wondered silently to herself.

"I did. That," Maura pointed to a large flower with petals that looked like flickering flames reaching skyward, their wavy tendrils dancing on an invisible breeze, "is the _Gloriosa superba_. The black and white sketch doesn't do it any justice. It's actually a very rich shade of orange-red, and here, around the base of the petals, a bright vivid yellow. I had intended to color it with aquarelle, but I never got around to it."

"It's amazing, Maura." Jane just stared open-mouthed at the picture, speechless at this latest Maura Isles revelation. And for some reason she felt like this was just the tip of the iceberg – like this hidden artistic talent was the least of the secrets Maura had just semi-confessed to her, and there was much more to the story.

"Well thank you, Jane. But don't be fooled by its appearances," Maura quipped, letting out a little chuckle and cocking one eyebrow. "It's also quite deadly!" Maura casually returned to her task of whittling down five suitcases worth of stuff into the one duffel-bag Jane was allowing her to bring on their excursion, and if sharing this part of her self with Jane was difficult, she made no show of it. For her part, Jane cleared a little space on Maura's bed and plopped herself down, delicately flipping each page as if it were made of tissue, admiring each of Maura's carefully rendered plants. She was visibly disappointed when she turned to find the sixth and all the rest of the pages empty. For a moment, she contemplated putting the album back on the shelf, but she thought better of it.

"So why didn't you?" Jane asked, disturbing the comfortable silence that had settled in the past ten minutes.

"I'm sorry?" Maura looked up, puzzled but patiently awaiting her friend's clarification.

"I mean, the flower. Why didn't you paint it? You said you were going to, but you didn't. Why not?" Jane added sheepishly.

"Ah!" She smiled in acknowledgement. "Well, I suppose…" Maura trailed off, but picked up again right away, "I suppose I thought I'd have more time. And then, I didn't, so…" Maura could tell by Jane's scrunched up forehead that this reply would not suffice. So standing once more, she came to sit by her best friend, recounting the story of her graduation trip and its abrupt dissolution, her tone neutral but not cold, as if she were just reciting the mere facts, not sharing a part of her past, and a pretty sad one at that. But Jane didn't need Maura to put her feelings on display to understand. She didn't need for Maura to tell her in words how disappointed – no, how _heartbroken_ – that teenage Maura must have been.

What Jane had wanted to say then was " _I am so sorry. I am so sorry that they let you down, Maura. I'm sorry this world has too often let you down._ " What she wanted to say was " _You know it was them, right? You know that they're the ones at fault, that there's something wrong with_ them _for not caring enough, or not showing it in the right ways, not you? You know that, right Maura? You know that you deserved better than that and it's on your parents, not on you? There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Maura. Tell me that you know that._ " What she had wanted to do, more than anything, was take Maura's hands in hers and promise… vow that for as long as Jane was around, she'd do her absolute best to make sure Maura Isles knew just how _worthy_ she was – just exactly how much she meant.

But if Jane Rizzoli was an expert at reading other people's emotions, she was a complete failure when it came to sharing her own. She wasn't good at the heart-to-heart stuff, especially when it came to talking. Jane Rizzoli had always said more with her actions than her words. Words, especially those words just then, were more than a bit scary. So she placed a hand on her best friend's knee, and pushing herself up, declared cheerfully, "Well, then I guess we're going to have to find time this weekend, won't we?" And with that, she closed the sketchbook and the discussion, simply walking over to place it in Maura's bag.

She couldn't have known how this little gesture had made Maura's heart swell, but it did, tremendously, and somewhere inside Maura could almost feel as her protective wall cracked just a little. She tried to push the feeling aside and changed the subject, eager for the previously light-hearted mood to return. Widening her eyes playfully at Jane, one hand to her chest in feigned fright, she half-jokingly asked, "Jane, are we really going to be chased by bears?"

Nothing more was said about Maura's time in Kenya, but that weekend, Jane did her best to make it up to Maura. She had urged Maura to sketch everything they came across – all sorts of plants and wildflowers and bugs, and even an incandescent white-green lunar moth which had roosted high on a tree trunk one night above their campfire. Maura had been thoroughly surprised that Jane Rizzoli, _her_ Jane, had not once grown weary or bored and was actually cheerily encouraging her artistic past-time. This would have been something she'd imagine Jane rolling her eyes and scoffing at. Maura wasn't naïve, and the thought had occurred to her that Jane was doing this because she had sensed the melancholy Maura had tried so hard to push aside when recounting why she'd never finished those first sketches. But Jane's enthusiasm seemed honest and sincere.

And it was. Jane was literally captivated by the way Maura's skilled hands so quickly and deftly rendered the objects of her study, and gladly spent the time peering over Maura's shoulder, watching her work. Jane's favorite had been a tall, three-petal burgundy flower on a sturdy stem which she had spotted near their campsite soon after they had arrived. She had been struck by its unusually large size and the blood-red hue that stood out against the brown backdrop of the forest floor, and commenting on its "rare beauty" (two words Jane vowed never again to say out loud), she elicited a burst of hearty laughter from the coroner.

"What?! Maura?! Are you making fun of me?" Jane imitated being offended.

"No, Jane. I would never." Maura held one hand up in surrender and the other over her heart. "It's just that… well, go smell it."

"What? The flower?"

"Yes, Jane. Go on. Smell it." Maura had to hold back another fit of laughter as her best friend acquiesced, bending down dutifully to pull in a deep breath through her nose, and then as she nearly fell backwards in repulsion, sputtering and choking and swearing up a storm.

"What the… _is_ that, Maura?" she managed.

The ME stymied her laughter long enough to offer an explanation. "It's a _Trillium_ _erectus_ , more commonly known as a purple trillium, though it has also earned the appropriate nickname of Stinking Benjamin. It's very beautiful Jane, but it's well known for its scent of rotting meat caused by being pollinated by flies." An impish smirk lit up the doctor's face.

"Jesus, Maur! I coulda died sniffing that Benjamin erecto thingy!" But Jane was laughing too now. "Ya know what? It just makes me like it even more. Like it's got a secret lethal weapon hidden under all that lady-like charm." Jane had purposefully set herself up for that one, enjoying the playful jest and self-deprecation, and Maura took the bait.

"Like you, I suppose, Jane. Tall and beautiful and charming… and at times, malodorous!"

They had laughed about that one for weeks after that, and this was the story that Maura had recounted to Jack that one evening that they had all three gone out for drinks.

Otherwise, their camping trip had been a huge success. Maura filled the pages of her sketchbook and Jane kept herself busy coming up with fun names and special weapons for all the plants and animals Maura drew. The first night, they had been exhausted and both zonked out in their tent early on in the evening. But on the second night, the same night the lunar moth had made his appearance, they had stayed up talking around their small fire, relaxing in comfortable fold-out canvas chairs. At one point, Maura had casually leaned her head back and opened her eyes, staring straight up into the black night sky, and unexpected wonderment escaped her in a breathy "whoa…". Jane tilted her head back too, then, to see what it was that had elicited such a reaction from her friend.

Neither of them had ever seen so many stars, or seen them more brightly and clearly than in that moment. The two women stayed like that for a while, slowly slouching down till their necks rested on the fabric backs of their seats so as to ease the strain in their muscles, but never daring to break the spell by sitting up. They continued speaking for a while, freely, about nothing and anything, and then they just sat there, star-gazing silently in each other's company.

This time it was Maura who interrupted the quiet. "What do you see up there?" she whispered, her warm breath coming out in puffs of steam on the cold air.

"I dunno, it looks like a bunch of twinkly little Christmas lights I guess," Jane said after contemplating the question for a moment.

"No, I mean, what do you see _in_ the stars?" Maura returned. When Jane hesitated to reply, Maura continued. "Almost every culture or civilization in all of history has come up with some explanation for the patterns and shapes that the stars form. They've given them names, and made up stories to explain for their existence. I don't know why I asked, really. I just think it's so interesting, that so many people have looked up at the exact same stars and told so many different, yet often very similar, stories about them. For example," Maura paused, lifting her finger and pointing it skyward towards an indistinct point in the heavens, "you see that cluster of stars there?"

Jane closed one eye and followed the imaginary line Maura drew with her extended limb. After a few moments, she was fairly certain she was looking at the same thing her friend was, and Maura continued, "Those are what the Greeks called the Pleiades. The name most likely derives from the Greek word for "sail", because they're easily recognizable and helped Greek sailors orient themselves at night. But a myth was born about the Pleiades, the seven daughters of the nymph Pleione and the titan Atlas. It was told that Orion had begun to pursue the seven sisters, and so Zeus transformed them into doves, and then into stars. And Orion, over there," she shifted her finger to point towards the constellation, "is said to still chase them across the night sky."

Jane huffed. "What a creep! Give it up, man!" she teased, then, without looking over at Maura, just gently nudging her with an elbow, Jane lowered her voice in a more serious, reverent tone and added, "Keep going, Maura. I like this."

Maura, happy to oblige, continued, "Those same stars are known to the Native American Arapaho tribe as the Splinter Foot Girl. She was said to be born from the broken leg of a hunter. He and his six travelling companions were her fathers, and they took great care of her. The girl was beautiful, and garnered the attention of a buffalo called Bone Bull, who wanted the girl for his own, but the fathers refused. In order to save herself and her family from the bull, Splinter Foot Girl threw her fathers and then herself into the sky where they became stars, living together for eternity under the great sky tent."

Jane couldn't contain a chuckle. "I'm starting to see a pattern here, Maur."

"That's kind of my point, I suppose. In such distant places and times, people looked up and saw the same things. Told the same stories. Felt the same human desire for freedom… I don't know, Jane, I think I'm just rambling," Maura stopped herself with a quiet, sweet laugh. "Forgive me."

"I like it when you ramble, Maura." Silence returned to the two friends for a few moments, while Maura quietly continued to observe the sky and Jane considered her friends words. Finally, Jane piped up. "What I see up there is _my_ family, Maura. Ma, and Frankie and Tommy. And Korsak. And the brightest star, that one's…" Jane's breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a half-second before opening them again, "that's Frost up there. You're right Maura, he's free," and at this admission Maura's hand had instinctively reached over, clasped Jane's in her own and given it a knowing squeeze, though she didn't dare interrupt Jane with placating words. After another moment, Jane finished, "And then there's me and you, Maura. The seven of us. That's what I see. Seven stars all squashed together in the same little place in the sky just like the seven of us on earth."

"Never alone." The way Jane said those last two words sounded like a promise.

Maura held on tightly to Jane's hand, letting it anchor her to this moment and to her friend, knowing that she was walking a fine line with her emotions and if she wasn't careful, the flood gates would open entirely. Maura stayed silent, finding there were no words to express her sentiments - her gratitude to Jane for opening up and letting her in just a little, her admiration and adoration for the strong but tender brunette detective beside her. They stayed like that a while longer, hand in hand, staring at the stars, until finally Maura noticed that Jane had drifted off, breathing deep and even. Only then had Maura given Jane's hand one last gently squeeze and whispered, ever so softly, "Thank you, Jane." Disentangling herself from Jane, she stood slowly to stretch her legs and added more wood to the waning fire. She ducked into their tent momentarily, returning with two warm wool blankets, which she used to gently tuck first around her best friend and then herself as she settled back down in her chair to sleep under the stars.

The next morning, Maura woke to find that Jane was already up and nursing a warm mug of coffee. Neither of them ever mentioned their star-stories again either, but when Maura went to put her now almost full sketch album back in her things as they were packing to leave, she noticed that on the very last page, Jane had made a little sketch of her own, a rudimentary sort of connect-the-dots drawing that Maura immediately recognized. Beneath it, Jane had written down her own story for the Pleiades. For the second time in Maura's life, her tears smudged those pages.

* * *

Maura stared at the ceiling and longed to be staring at the sky. She reached her hand out to the side, for Jane.

"Jane, please," Maura confided audibly, giving in to the need to voice her thoughts, to reason with the imaginary Jane lying beside her. "Don't do it. I know you think you have to. I know you think that's what you're supposed to do. That it's your job. To save me. But don't. Please. Don't come for me. I know you promised me I'd never be alone, Jane, but please. I can't let you save me if it means losing you. Please Jane, don't come."


	5. Recompense (Jane)

Lieutenant Korsak had had to drive the squad car on the way back to Boston. Jane was unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds, her mind churning with an infinity of questions with no answers. She had cried, at first, back in the Raynham police chief's office as she told her younger brother of their discovery. Now, though, hugging her arms tight around her chest, she forbid herself to let another tear fall. She had no right to them, she told herself. So she altered between disquieting silence and brief outbursts of anger, incapable of voicing her thoughts in more than three words – _I don't get… How could he… What does he…_ before choking on them. A distressing concoction of emotions coursed through her veins – relief at finally having a solid lead, something to go on, bewilderment and confusion over how and why Kent Drake had set all of this in motion, and terror at realizing that he must have been planning this for months and they hadn't had the slightest clue.

No, no. That wasn't true. That wasn't true at all, Jane realized as she replayed over and over again in her mind all her previous interactions with the man. The red flags had gone up the minute Jane met the new crime lab assistant. Something about him _irked_ her to her core. She recalled telling Vince she "hated" the guy on the very first day she encountered him in the morgue. But she had done her best to keep her instinctive dislike for him on a leash, because she wasn't exactly sure what to make of it or where the feeling came from.

It had occurred to her briefly that it might have just been jealousy talking, and then when the question _"What on earth do I have to be jealous of him for?"_ crossed her mind, she hadn't allowed herself to answer it. She didn't want to open that can of worms, and so she had begrudgingly let the issue go.

"I should have..." Jane blurted out, slamming her fist against the dashboard and leaning as far forward in her seat as the safety belt would let her. Korsak turned just briefly to give her a sympathetic look, and then focused back on the road ahead, giving Jane the space she needed to sort everything out in her head. Jane swallowed hard. " _Get it together, Rizzoli. Now is not the time for this._ " She did her best to still the overwhelming tempest which surged inside her and threatened, for the second time in two days, to push her straight over the edge.

"Korsak, I _knew_ something wasn't right."

Whether at the sound of his name, or at the finally coherent phrase coming from the person in the passenger seat, Vince spoke up, "What do you mean, Jane?"

"I mean Kent. I felt it. He gave me the creeps. I knew something didn't feel right about him. I felt it and I just ignored it." She sighed, knowing how pathetic and useless it was to lament this now, but not finding the energy to care.

Vince took a moment to gather his words before answering, "Jane, let me be absolutely clear about this. We are all on the hook here. I know you'd be happy to let that hideous beast of guilt you've got holed up inside you eat you alive. I know you feel like you deserve that. I've been there. I get it. So I'm not going to tell you to not feel that way. That'd be a waste of my breath and you won't believe me. But hear me when I say that the rest of us – me and Frankie and everyone else – we're all just as culpable as you think you are. We should have seen it coming, too, Jane. We should have warned Maura and protected Maura, too. So this isn't all on you."

Korsak paused momentarily to cast a penetrating sideways look at Jane, driving the next point home. "And neither is the responsibility of finding her. You shouldn't carry this burden by yourself, and you don't have to. You can't, Jane."

Jane's first impulse was to refute everything she heard – he was wrong, he _had_ to be, the guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach was telling her exactly that. But after a few minutes, she nodded. She didn't want to believe it, and it took every ounce of self-restraint she had left in her to admit that at least some of what he had said might be true. Not the first part – she wasn't sure she'd ever accept that this was anyone's fault but her own. But that last thing, about not being able to do this on her own, Jane knew he was right about that. She had been teetering on a very dangerous precipice for the past two days now and she knew that if she didn't reel it in and find her footing, she'd be falling fast and there'd be nothing she could do to save herself, much less her best friend.

So Jane nodded and Korsak drove and they said nothing else until they reached the BPD precinct at shortly after 3 am.

* * *

"Were you able to reach him?" Frankie set a cup of coffee down on the corner of Jane's desk as he walked into the bull pen. It was her third cup since she'd arrived back at BPD nearly eight hours earlier.

"No, not yet. But his Lieutenant said he wouldn't be back for at least another hour. He's out on a Recon Patrol now, but his Lieu promised me he'd relay the message and have him contact me as soon as h's back on base," Jane offered, reaching toward the steaming cup and trying her best to smile. "Thanks for this."

"Yeah, no prob Janie. But look, this is the last one until you eat something. And bathe. You stink." Frankie scrunched up his face and pointed a finger at his sister. He was only half-joking, partly attempting to lighten the mood as well as remind his her that a quick washing up wouldn't hurt anybody.

The corners of Jane's mouth tightened, eyebrows raised in a wincing, sorry-bout-that sort of expression, and she stood from her desk. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right," she said, her tone exasperated. "I always do my best detective work in the shower anyway. I'm just gonna head to the locker room, I won't be more than 10 minutes. If you need me, send Nina," she commanded, giving the younger Rizzoli a stern stare and turning to head towards the elevator.

"Jane," her brother put a firm but gentle hand on her forearm, stalling her temporarily, "hey, I know you don't want to hear this. But you _are_ gonna need to sleep too, sooner or later. I can tell you're running on fumes." When Jane tried to rebut this, Frankie just held up his hand and pushed on, "Nina and I have got this, Jane, and Korsak will be back soon – there's nothing you need to do right now except wait until Casey calls you back. So after that shower, why don't you try and get just a little bit of rest in the cribs. An hour, Jane. It can only do you good. And I swear if anything comes up, I'll come get you asap."

She felt like she should protest, but the truth was that she _was_ exhausted, physically and mentally. She hadn't slept for more than ten minutes at a time, at her desk or in the car, since Maura had been taken. No one had had anything close to a good night's sleep, and they'd all spent nearly every waking hour at the precinct or out following-up on a lead. Angela was keeping everyone fed and had even brought a change of clothes for Nina who had also refused to go home after she'd first received the call about the ME's abduction. But Jane was the only one who hadn't laid down even once, hadn't rested her head on a pillow or let herself get any more than the a few minutes of shut-eye, and it was starting to catch up to her. " _You can't sleep while Maura's still missing,_ " a voice in her head hissed, but she just tossed this onto to the pile of things she would let herself stew over later, once Maura was home.

As she stood under the hot, steady stream of water, letting it wash away all the sweat and grime that had collected in the past two and half days, she walked herself through where they had gotten since first finding out that Kent Drake was the man behind the alias Willie Maples. While she and Korsak had gone to the one bedroom apartment Kent rented in town, the search of which so far had turned up absolutely nothing, not even a finger print or DNA, Nina had run an extensive background check which likewise revealed very little other than what was in Drake's personnel file. Most of it was information they already knew: Drake was a native Scot, completed med school at Glasgow, and had been enrolled in the Royal Regiment of Scotland as a field medic before deciding to switch tracks to train as a Medical Examiner. Before coming to Boston, he had been in Afghanistan, and after a little more digging, Frankie had discovered that Drake's battalion had been stationed at a joint forces military base in Kandahar, under the command of none other than the American Colonel Casey Jones.

Coincidence? It was possible, Nina had argued, as there were thousands of men and women stationed at the base and it was unlikely that Casey and Kent ever had any interaction. But the connection was too close for comfort for Jane, and she knew she had to get to the bottom of it. Unfortunately, BPD didn't have the clearance to make an international request for Drake's military files, in order to get a fuller picture of his time overseas. So while Korsak called in another favor to a friend in the Bureau who would try and pull some strings to get Drake's records released from UK authorities, Jane had used her own personal ties to speed things up. Which was why she was now awaiting a video call from her ex-fiancé.

Jane leaned her forehead against the cold tile wall of the BPD women's shower, engulfed in billows of vapor. Casey Jones. The only man she had ever contemplated marrying. The father of the baby she'd lost, though he had already agreed it was best to let Jane raise the kid on her own, without his involvement. _"It's better this way, Jane. And you and the baby will be fine. You've got Maura,"_ he had said to her during their brief conversation on a satphone after Jane had first discovered she was pregnant, and the last time they spoke in person. At first, she hadn't given them a second thought, but for some reason Casey's words were stuck in her head like a bad song for the next few days after, and she had quickly found herself troubled by them. What had he meant by that anyway? You've got Maura. Of course she had Maura – Maura was her best friend and had always been there for her, but why did he say like that, as if he were trying to remind her of something? For fear of finding out what lay behind that door as well, Jane had once again forced herself to let the whole thing go.

Jane shut off the flow of water and reached for the thick, warm towel which hung on a hook outside the stall. The same towel, Jane realized now like punch to the gut, that Maura always put in her locker at the start of the week, a habit she had started a few years back when she'd once discovered some strain of mold (Jane couldn't remember the name now) growing on the damp excuse for a towel Jane used to keep balled up in her cubby. Jane had to admit, she was a bit embarrassed, but she laughed it off with a snarky comment and hoped Maura wouldn't say anything else about it. And Maura didn't, but the following day, Jane's petri-dish towel was nowhere to be found, and a clean, cottony one took its place. At first it had almost insulted Jane's self-pride, like she wasn't actually a grown adult at all, but a messy child who needed Maura to look after her (which in retrospect, maybe was kinda true). But she had liked the way the soft, fluffy towel smelled like Maura's clothes, and so she had put aside her bruised ego and let Maura do it. Another one of the million ways they took care of each other without ever saying a word.

God, why did everything have to remind her of Maura?

Redressed in clean clothes her Ma had left, Jane wandered in to the cribs. She wouldn't be able to sleep, she was sure of it, but at least laying down would help allow her body to rest. It'd be best not to fall asleep, anyway, she thought, because she knew that as soon as she closed her eyes, the nightmares would come. She could count on them to show up like clockwork after every traumatic event she'd suffered - after shooting herself to save Frankie and Maura, after Hoyt, both times, and when Maura had been arrested and had to spend the night in jail, after almost losing Maura in the woods, after Dominic…. Those nightmares, they were always a twisted rehashing of what had already happened, except that in them, nothing ever turned out for the good. On those occasions, the only thing that had saved her from being consumed by them entirely had been that for the first few nights after each time, she'd go home with Maura. It was an unspoken understanding, neither of them ever had to say or ask, they just _acted_. And when Jane would finally fall asleep, whether on Maura's couch or in the guest room, and when the nightmares would inevitably start to torment her subconscious, she'd be awoken by a petite but deceptively strong arm wrapping around her core, pulling her closer to a warm body curled up behind her, holding her there, steady, abiding, sure, anchoring her to reality.

This time there would be no one to save her.

So she laid herself down on the thin, foam mattress of one of the cots in the cribs with the intention of staying awake, of keeping those demons at bay just a little bit longer. Fatigue, however, won out, and the minute she was prostrate, her body and mind gave in and she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

"Rizzoli, wake up." Jane's eyes shot open wide, darting back and forth for a few seconds before focusing on the dark eyes staring sympathetically back at her. "Sorry, Rizzoli, but you've got to get up."

"Nina," Jane breathed as she struggled to sit upright, vigorously rubbing the sleep from her face with the palms of hands. "What's…"

"Colonel Jones will be on in ten. Everything's all set up in the conference room," Nina, who had been crouching next to the cot, replied as she got to her feet again, stretching out a hand to pull Jane up too.

"Thanks," Jane nodded as she took it, straightening up beside the shorter Forensic Analyst. Jane glanced down at her wrist, looking for the watch that she remembered only too late was now in the BPD crime lab, and then, quickly shaking her head, she added, "How long have I been out?"

"An hour, give or take," Nina answered, and Jane had a hunch it was more give than take. "C'mon, let's get up there."

* * *

The webcam on the conference room table had been wired to a laptop with a secure connection, and the computer's desktop was being mirrored to project on large, white screen which had been pulled down at one end of the conference room. Jane sat closest to the camera, with Detective Korsak and Nina directly behind her, and then the Captain and Frankie and a handful of other cops who had been assigned to the case.

Jane wrung her hands nervously, anxious to get this whole thing over with. She told herself it was because the sooner she talked to her ex-fiancé, the sooner she'd have whatever information he might know about their suspect, Kent Drake. But deep down she let herself admit that part of her was wary of seeing the man, a man she'd once been in love with, for the first time in what felt like forever, and especially under such dire circumstances and in front of an audience of her peers. _"Get over it, Jane. Do this for Maura. Like she said, lean into the discomfort._ "

There was a short dial tone and then they connected, and a blurry image of Colonel Casey Jones appeared on the screen in front of them. He was dressed in uniform and was in some sort of sandy-colored office sitting at what looked like a metal desk from twenty years ago. Jane was glad the resolution wasn't any better, so she couldn't make out the expression on Casey's face or in his eyes.

"Colonel Jones."

"Casey."

Korsak and Jane spoke at the same time, but the former had nearly drowned out the latter, her voice involuntarily coming out suffocated.

"Thanks for doing this," Jane tried again a bit louder and with more confidence. "I know you are busy over there."

"Anything I can do to help, Jane. Lieutenant Colonel Avery filled me in on what you told him. I'm so sorry to hear what's happened. You guys will find her, I know..."

"Yeah, thanks," Jane cut him off in a rush, moving on to the topic at hand. "Look, we know it's a stretch, but is there any chance you remember a medic by the name of Kent Drake? He was stationed there with the Scottish army before he came to Boston. We are pretty sure he's connected to Mau-…," Jane couldn't bring herself to say her name now, not here, not in front of Casey, "… to this whole thing."

"Actually, I do," Casey replied a bit hesitantly. "I remember him well." He paused then, seemingly lost in his thoughts, and Jane was just about to prompt him when he finally continued. "He quit… he left. It was because of me."

"Because of you?" Korsak repeated.

"Yeah. I… he was a medic here. Things have mostly calmed down in recent years, but every now and then one of our crews has a run-in with hostile combatants. It doesn't happen very often. But once in a while…" Casey cleared his throat and started over. "He lost his fiancé. She was an American, one of ours. Sergeant Ramirez. I think they met here on… a previous tour. I don't know, actually. But what I do know is that… she… she was on patrol and… She was a good soldier. She… I'm really sor-…"

"Casey, please," Jane interrupted, clearly perceiving his trepidation at recounting this story, and also sensing that somehow, what he was about to say had a lot to do with why they were here now. She just wanted him to get it over with. "What happened?"

"Yes, sorry. She was on patrol when her convoy was ambushed. She and two more of our guys were taken hostage. They… they asked for money, for ransom, but you guys know," Casey said, shaking his head, "we don't… we don't negotiate with terrorists."

Jane's mind was racing in overdrive. _Taken hostage_. _Kent's fiancé_. This, this _had_ to be a clue. But why her? Why Maura? Her thoughts were cut short by the low rumble of Casey's voice as he continued to explain.

"We couldn't negotiate. But we did set up a special-ops team to attempt a rescue mission. We were pretty sure where they were being held. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out thing."

"Supposed…?" Jane whispered aloud unwittingly. Korsak and Frankie both shot her sideways looks but it seemed as if Colonel Jones on the one end of the call hadn't heard, or at least he made no show of it.

"I take it it didn't go that way?" Korsak questioned.

"No. No, it didn't," Casey pushed forward. "And guys, look, I've got to be honest. What happened that day… it was partly… partly my fault. I was… distracted, I guess you could say. I didn't have my head in the game, and I should have. I made a bad call, and… well… the next time we saw Sergeant Ramirez, she was in bad shape."

"Bad shape? So she was still alive?" Jane asked, having clearly expected to hear that Ramirez had been killed in the rescue attempt.

"Barely." He didn't elaborate, and he didn't need to. The distraught tone of his voice, his hunched posture… Jane was once again grateful that she couldn't see the look on his face. "She… we were able… we brought her back to base. Drake, he was in the triage bay, and he saw her… like that. He actually had to be the one to work on her. He tried, I know he did. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could have done. He lost her there on his table. The worst part was that, in spite of her injuries… she was still conscious. She was talking… she was delirious and she just kept… she kept begging him… to save her." Casey stopped again and this time, no one pushed him to carry on.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice still and void of emotion. "And when she died, he lost a piece of his sanity too, I think. He visibly changed. No one really blamed him, I know – it was shock, they said, and he'd maybe be able to get through it with therapy and time. But he couldn't function, not here. So they gave him a medical discharge, something that wouldn't count against him. And that's the last I heard of him. I had no idea he had moved to Boston."

A heavy silence hung like fog over all of them, Casey on base overseas and the BPD team in the conference room. Everyone took a moment to process what they had just learned. It wasn't the whole picture yet, but it definitely felt like the pieces were finally starting to come together.

"Thanks Casey," Korsak said, moving so that he was beside Jane in the camera's view, taking the reins of the conversation. He needed a bit more information and he wasn't sure Jane was in a place to go asking for it. "We really appreciate the insight you've given us. If you don't mind, I just have a couple more questions for you, and then we'll let you get back to your work there."

"Yeah of course, Vince," came Casey's reply through the computer speakers. "Like I said, whatever I can do."

"Do you know where Sergeant Ramirez was from? Has she maybe got family here in Boston?"

"No… no, not that I know of. She was from Wisconsin, somewhere up north. It's possible she's got relatives there but her parents and little brother are still in Wisconsin. If you want I can have someone send you her personnel file. It's open record."

"That'd be a real help. Okay, and does the name Willie Maples mean anything to you?" Korsak asked.

Casey shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I've never heard that name before."

"Alright. Just one last thing then. I'm sorry to ask, but it might relevant to his motives and it could be important. You said you were distracted, and that a decision you made in part may have been at fault for what happened to Sergeant Ramirez."

It wasn't a question. But Casey knew what Vince was asking anyway. And he knew, in his gut, that he had to tell them. Casey Jones was many things, but he was not stupid. The minute his lieutenant had told him about what had happened to Maura, and the reason for the BPD's call to him, he had had the staggering feeling in the pit of his stomach that _he_ was the connection between Drake and Maura – or rather, Drake and Jane. He had put off telling them till now, skimming over this detail when retelling the story about Ramirez, because he was afraid of Jane's reaction, of hurting her again. But he realized he had no choice – no matter the cost, no matter the pain it would undoubtedly cause his ex-girlfriend, he had to tell them this last piece of information. It was the key.

"Right. I was… I had just found out." There was a long, pregnant pause, and Jane could feel the weight of what was about to be said next grip her shoulders and squeeze her chest, robbing her of the ability to breathe. "I had just found out about the baby."

And there it was. Jane stood abruptly from her chair at the table, pushing herself back and towards the door as quickly as her body would take her, as the bile rose in her throat. She barely made it five steps out of the conference room before she doubled over, knuckles gripping the edges of a metal trash can as she vomited what little stomach contents she had in her. She could vaguely hear Frankie behind her, calling her name perhaps, but she couldn't face him now. She couldn't face anyone. Her feet moved forward, towards the elevator, and the minute the doors opened she stepped on, jamming her fist against the buttons that lit up as she pounded at them. The doors closed slowly, and she was alone.

The baby. The baby Jane had been carrying. The one Casey left her with, the one Maura had promised to help her raise. She had lost it – miscarried – after having been shot. And she had been shot because she had gone into a dangerous situation in order to save a teenage girl's life. She'd done it without thinking, without weighing the risks, just like every other decision she'd ever made on the job. Save the life, worry about the rest, herself especially, later. That's why she'd jumped off a bridge. That's why she'd shot herself through the abdomen. That's why she'd ended up pinned to the floor with two scalpels through her palms. Because she was trying to save someone else's life. She hadn't thought about the fact that she wasn't just risking her own life anymore, at least not until it was too late. She had consoled herself by telling herself that this is how she was wired, that this was just who she was, and that it was probably for the best anyhow, since what kind of mother would that have made her? She used this as an excuse and buried the grief of losing the baby, pretending it never happened. Maura had tried a few times to get her to open up, to talk about it, but this was one thing Jane refused to give an inch on.

The elevator dinged and as the doors slid open, Jane realized with a shock where she was. She hadn't been down here since Maura was taken almost three days ago. She hesitated, almost about to turn around and get back on the elevator before deciding against it. In three quick strides she had crossed the corridor and was standing at a closed door, one hand resting against it and the other just barely pressing down on the handle. The lights were off inside, she could tell through the half-drawn blinds on the large picture window next to the door, and she imagined that after the crime techs had done their sweep (as they had of Maura's home as well), they'd closed it up and no one had dared enter since.

Jane always came down here when she was feeling lost. Come to think of it, she often came down here when she was feeling _anything_ – confusion, happiness, frustration, anger. The room that lie on the other side of that door had become a sort of sanctuary over the years, and for a moment she closed her eyes and let herself pretend that Maura was just inside, sitting at her desk like she always was, and she'd look up from her work to greet Jane with a wide, sweet grin as Jane walked in without ever knocking.

She pushed downward on the handle and, surprisingly, it hadn't been locked and gave way with a metallic click. Jane nudged the door open just enough to pass through before shutting it behind her, and in the dark she took the few steps she had seared into her muscle memory over to the couch, throwing herself down into it and letting all the pent emotion finally bubble up and escape in a low, guttural sob.

Maura wasn't here. Maura wasn't here and that felt so entirely _wrong_. Maura was _always_ here.

Maura was gone and as Jane allowed Casey's words to sink it, she finally realized _how_ she ended up here, alone, without the one person she needed more than anyone else. Jane had been careless. She'd had everything she'd ever needed right at her fingertips and she'd let it all slip away. She was foolish and reckless and because of that, she'd lost the baby. She'd hurt Casey. And so Kent blamed her – Kent Drake blamed Jane for losing the person he loved, and so he had found an outlet for his grief in pursuing the root cause of all his pain. In his twisted logic which Jane recognized she understood all too well, Jane's choice to put herself and her unborn child into harm's way had been the catalyst for all the other tragedies that followed. And so Drake had stalked her, studied her, found her weakness and exploited it. He was making her pay for all her mistakes and the price he exacted was Maura. Deep down, the monster inside of her told her she deserved it.

Jane sat crying on Maura's sofa in Maura's empty office and all she could think was - she deserved it. She deserved this pain. Korsak was wrong. She and no one else was to blame for this. She. Deserved. This.

 _"_ _But Maura… Maura doesn't_ ," the thought flickered in the chasm of Jane's mind, a small but fierce light at the bottom of a dark, black pit. " _You did this, not her. She doesn't deserve whatever is happening to her and you can't let it go on. You have to stop him. Whatever it takes, Jane, you have to get her back."_ Slowly but steadily the flame inside her was fanned to a burning, roaring fire. Her guilt and regret transformed immediately into anger. She might deserve this, but he had no right to lay a hand on Maura and the thought made her blood boil.

She indignantly swiped the last stray tears from her hot cheeks and rose to her feet. "Hang in there, Maur-," she whispered out loud. "I'm coming."

* * *

A few minutes later, and a few floors above, a thick manila envelope with no return address had been delivered to the BPD front desk amongst a stack of other mail. When the desk sergeant on duty shuffled through the delivery, sorting junk from important-looking post, it took a minute before she realized what she was holding in her grasp. Addressed to Detective Jane Rizzoli, the small package felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in her hand.

All chaos broke loose in the precinct at the moment. Only after both the bomb squad as well as the forensic techs had scanned and swabbed and tested the envelope and declared it did not pose any physical threat, was Jane allowed to be in the crime lab as the envelope was opened slowly and surgically. Jane had ordered everyone except for the two techs she knew and trusted the most out of the room. Whatever was inside, she didn't want the whole world to see. Or rather, she didn't want the whole world to see _her_ when she saw it, whatever it was.

"Yeah," Jane nodded to the senior of the two technicians who had just asked her if she was ready. No, no of course she wasn't ready. She would never be ready. But she nodded anyway and gave him the go ahead.

With a pair of long, silver forceps, he painstakingly extracted the contents.

"Maura!" The sound that escaped Jane's throat upon seeing what lay on the table in front of her was low and powerful, and saturated with agony.

Before them, on the cold metal tray were four large, glossy photographs. In each one, there was Maura, sitting in the center, arms bound at the wrists and laying stiffly in her lap, a dark red stain covering her chin and neck. The last one showed her turned a to the side, bending over, her mouth open.

Jane reached out with a gloved hand, unable and unwilling to stop herself from picking up one of the photos and running her fingers over the figure. "Oh Maura, I'm so sorry," she breathed.

"What's that?" The younger of the crime techs, a Peruvian girl named Naida, was pointing at the photograph in Jane's hands.

Turning it over, they immediately saw that something had been scrawled on the back. Jane tried, but she couldn't focus on the letters. Handing it to Naida, she asked, "What does is say?"

"To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense; your foot shall slide in due time: for the day of your calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon you make haste."

* * *

 **A/N: THANK YOU for the kind reviews, faves, and follows - each one is truly appreciated! I apologize that this chapter took longer than the others to get up, but I had a bad case of writer's block + holidays + new job just started. It may take a little extra time but I do promise to update regularly! This was a hard one to write and I'm not sure if it's my best, but it'll have to do.**

 **I know Jane kind of runs the gamut of emotions here – from guilt, to acceptance, to anger, back to guilt and over and back again – but this is on purpose. The little we know from the show runners about Jane in 6B is that she supposedly goes a little crazy, so that's what I'm trying to show… the see-saw of emotions that keeps her just sane enough to keep doing her job but otherwise pretty close to going off the deep end.**

 **Finally, RE: a review about not understanding why Maura doesn't want Jane to come for her – I didn't explain that well, I suppose. Originally it had been my plan for the last chapter to delve straight into Maura's thoughts after her "realization" in Ch. 2 that she is the bait in a trap set for Jane (which yeah, was pretty obvious, but we all know Maura doesn't assume things until she has proof, which is why it took Kent saying Jane's name to remove all doubt that Jane was the real target – and hope that she wasn't – from her mind). So Maura's plea to imaginary Jane would have made more sense had I actually written the last chapter the way I had intended.** **I hope to get to Maura's inner dialogue soon, but simply put for now: it's no secret that Jane puts her own life at risk to save others, and Maura fears this. She wants, or maybe even** ** _needs_** **Jane with her, no doubt (wishing she could see the stars, reaching out for a non-existent Jane), but she's terrified of the potential cost.**

 **Again, please leave a quick review if you liked or didn't like this latest chapter. I'd love to know how you think it's going. Are you ready for the two to be reunited yet or should their separation last a little longer so that the coming together can be that much sweeter?**


	6. Mother

**I literally just finished writing this. It's 2 am. I contemplated hanging on to it so I could re-read it and fine tune it, but I won't have time over the next few days and I really wanted to get this out to you all, so I hope you'll look past any errors or less-than-stellar word choices.**

 **And, I don't know if this is necessary, but just a heads up: this chapter contains stuff about the baby Jane lost, and Kent's sick way of getting his psychological revenge on her. So, if this is a sensitive subject for you, you might want to skip this chapter. I felt it was necessary to write it this way because... well, because you'll see.**

* * *

The first real rays of sunlight began to filter in through the small openings at the tops of the two longer lateral walls, sending thin, yellow-white streaks to cut diagonally across the dark, damp air of the cell. Maura figured it must be sometime just after 6:30am, and she'd been awake for a few hours already. She wasn't sure at exactly what point she had finally succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep the night before – holding tightly to Jane, albeit only in her imagination. She'd only slept a couple of hours at most, but nevertheless she'd been relieved when the pain in her ribs had become so overpowering that it roused her from the nightmare she'd been having.

Now, she was pacing, slowly, methodically. She walked the perimeter of her confines, stepping gingerly, careful not to jar her spine, keeping her shoulders upright and her back as straight as possible. At one point, the resemblance of her actions to those of a caged animal dawned on her, but the thought was extremely disconcerting and so she quickly pushed it to the back of her mind.

Sensory stimulation deprivation. Maura had read multiple studies of the effects isolation could have on the human mind and body, and although she wasn't entirely cut-off from the outside world (thankfully, the narrow spaces that let in light also let in fresh air and the sounds coming from nature around her), she was keenly aware that a prolonged period of solitude could take its toll on even the sharpest minds.

So in spite of the burning sensation in her side and lung, she had forced herself to get up and move. Careful, gradual motion.

As she walked, she intermittently spoke to herself out loud.

Physical and auditory stimuli. Keep track of the time, at least in terms of days and nights. It was the best she could do in her current conditions. Furthermore, the activity reduced the likelihood that she would suffer from deep vein thrombosis and the associated risk of pulmonary embolism, which was often linked to significant traumas like broken ribs, when a patient's mobility was diminished.

Maura walked and talked, alone in her prison.

She had already gone over everything she knew. At approximately 11:30pm, near 55 hours ago, Kent Drake, her newly hired Assistant Medical Examiner, had taken her against her will. It had been premeditated, of this she was absolutely certain. He had been prepared, meticulously so.

Which is why, Maura brooded, it didn't make any sense at all that he had almost let her escape. He had seemed genuinely taken by surprise when he'd had to tackle her in the forest. He had lost his otherwise cool, steely demeanor – just briefly, but long enough for Maura to catch a glimpse of something much darker and sinister fomenting behind his detached façade. So had he actually miscalculated the dosing of whatever sedative he had administered? From what little she knew of Kent professionally, it seemed quite uncharacteristic, and she couldn't reconcile this with his reaction to discovering she was, in fact, awake.

And… he had made attempts at concealing his identity from her, which were foiled then too. That had to mean something, but Maura was unsure what.

Maura also believed, though she had little tangible proof, that this was all linked back to what had happened to Jane in the days leading up to the abduction. The apartment fire, the prank phone calls and cancelled credit cards, and then, the dead arsonist with the butterfly tattoo, the thinly veiled threats, the watch. And again, the overarching picture evaded her. Why? What was the connection?

Her communication with Kent _had_ always seemed a bit cryptic, even from day one. He had never been upfront or easy to understand, but Maura had just chalked that up to her own personal inability to pick up on and correctly gauge social cues. He was strange, yes, but she had never sensed anything malicious or suspect. On the contrary, she had actually kind of appreciated having another capable set of eyes and hands in the ME's office, even if they belonged to someone a bit… quirky. " _After all_ ," she had told herself after being once again taken aback by something odd the new arrival had done or said, " _who am I to judge?_ "

But now, those quirks didn't seem like mere quirks anymore.

"I wanted to see how you'd react. What you'd react to," … _he had admitted after being called out on his fictitious nerdy persona..._

"That's a bit like lying, isn't it?" … _she had asked …._

"Yeah," … _his devilish smirk widened…_ "but we all lie in our own little way, don't we?"

Maura hadn't given that conversation a second thought until now, as she walked the walls for perhaps the hundredth time. Now… now, as she repeated them out loud, those words tasted acidic, laced with innuendo and hidden implications. What did he believe she was lying about? Maura Isles had certainly never been called a liar before. In fact, practically everyone who'd ever met the doctor knew just how blatantly truthful and frank she could be, sometimes to a fault. So what lie could he have possibly been calling her out on?

And then, there was that kiss. That awkward, unexpected kiss that he had essentially used to manipulate her. Maura had thought she had gotten to the bottom of the whole thing when he admitted it had all stemmed from his fear of confronting a dead girl's parents. But reflecting on it now, his confession seemed… contrived. An easy excuse.

"Do you know it's him?" Maura asked aloud, clutching her pillow against her side, taking another step around her rectangular track. "It's Kent, Jane," she hummed, as if she believed her words could rise up and out of there like smoke signals for Jane to see. She wondered if they'd have realized by now that Kent wasn't actually on the vacation he had put in for over a month ago.

A month ago. Kent had asked for time off to visit his family in Scotland over a month ago. This sent chills down the back of Maura's neck. He had known for at least a month the day and time he was going to take Maura, all the time working alongside her in the morgue. The idea made her feel so utterly betrayed, by him, in part, but mostly by her own instincts which, for the second time in her life, failed to warn her against getting close to someone who was planning all along to hurt her. Fool me once, fool me twice…

Every random little crumb of information about Kent, all the minute details regarding her interaction with Kent had suddenly transformed themselves into what felt like a thousand teensy puzzle pieces, scrambled and strewn about everywhere she looked – fortuitous comments about being a "hunter for food", prying questions about her friendship with Jane and dating detectives, a cellphone conveniently left on her desk with a perplexing lock-screen photo (a selfie of what looked like a beardless version of Kent in a hunting beret), his apparent antagonism towards Detective Rizzoli, the way he constantly kept his hands in his pockets, as if he were trying to make himself as unintrusive and unthreatening as possible, - and she couldn't for the life of her put the image together. How could she, when she was convinced that half of the pieces were missing anyway?

"What," Maura articulated each word slowly, "is your angle, Kent?", though she was speaking to an empty room.

After sufficiently tiring herself out and not wishing to push her body any further, she finally slumped down to the floor, resuming the position she'd spent the majority of the past two days in, back to the wall, legs out in front of her. Jane had always teased her for it, but Maura was certain now that her years of dedicated meditation gave her a decided advantage in her current situation. Her body had lots of practice at finding comfort and calm in stillness, and she drew upon that strength now. Of course, this place was a far cry from her soothing feng shui yoga studio on Beacon Hill.

Maura Isles was no stranger to being alone. The majority of her life, in fact, she had spent in the company of no one at all. As a child, she was often home with one of the many caretakers that came and went, while her parents were travelling, and then, as a teenager, years in boarding school. She'd had a few friends, sure, and plenty of acquaintances, but she'd never really cared much for cultivating a social life. The outings she enjoyed most were concerts or the opera, where she could spend time in the company of others without the expectation of conversation or small talk. Maura was horrible at small talk. By the time she graduated from Boston Cambridge University at the top of her class, she was accustomed and comfortable with passing her days in the midst of people without ever actually _sharing_ anything about herself, and her evenings at home alone with a good book or medical journal.

It wasn't that she was immune to human emotion. On the contrary, the way and manner in which Maura _felt_ things was profound and consummate. It was merely that she had learned to "do without", so to speak, and to not expect too much from other people, who could be so unpredictable and fickle.

She had been in a few relationships over the years. Every once in a while, she would meet someone interesting and slowly begin to open herself up to the possibility of sharing her space and time with another human being. But it never lasted long. And after Ian – the one who came and left and came and left, and in leaving, _always_ left her behind, much like her parents; after Dennis – the serial killer who left her without any explanation, and finally returned, only this time with the intention of making Maura his next victim; and then, after Jack – who had been charming and sweet and had up and left, forcing Maura to realize that she wasn't nearly as upset about it as she should have been… after all these failed experiments, she had settled upon the conclusion that these romantic relationships weren't meant for her.

But there _was_ that one, singular person who had wormed her way into Maura Isle's existence without her even realizing it, at least not until it was much too late to stop her. Like a thief, she had stolen her way into Maura's life. She had conquered Maura with cheeky banter and a mane of unruly brunette curls, a husky voice and quirked eyebrows and an unconditional acceptance and adoration of Maura for who she was. Maura never saw it coming. She just remembered waking up one Sunday morning, mentally preparing a check-list for the things she'd need for the "family" lunch later that day, and the realization hit her like a ton of bricks: she was not alone anymore – she hadn't been for quite some time now – and it all felt so _right_. The meddlesome pseudo-mother who walked in without knocking. The Rizzoli brothers who protected her like a younger sister. Detective Korsak and Nina, and Susie Chang, God rest her soul. Jane.

In that moment, Maura Isles had understood the real meaning of two abstract concepts she'd never before comprehended: "family" and "best friend".

So the solitude, here, now, in her cramped, dingy cell, was all the more painful for how familiar it was. It reminded her of just how much she had gained and grown in the past seven, eight years, and how much she had to lose now.

In for ten counts, out for ten counts. Maura pushed aside all thoughts of Kent Drake and Jane Rizzoli and focused solely on breathing, stretching her lungs to recycle stale air as much as the pain would allow…. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Maura winced, her bottom lip taught over her teeth and quivering, and she bit down on it to distract herself… Seven. Six. Five. Four. Thr…

The soft, intermittent crackling of gravel under shoes made Maura visibly jump. A key turned haltingly in the lock, metal scraping against metal, once, and then again, and then the door whined sharply as it swung open on rusty hinges. Light poured in around his black silhouette in the doorframe, revealing dust particles that seemed to glitter as they swirled in the air. Maura briefly caught a glimpse of those deep green trees, and… a wood pile, perhaps?

He stepped in, balancing a plastic tray in one hand, a gym bag slung over the opposite shoulder, and calmly closed the door behind him, shutting out the world once more.

* * *

"'Your foot shall slide…'. What the fuck does that mean?!" Jane thundered, squeezing her fists tight and digging her nails hard into her palms. She wanted to punch something.

All hands were on deck in the squad room. One (Jane had only allowed one) of the pictures of Maura had been enlarged and was taped up on the white crime-board for all to gawk at, along with copies of the backs of all four of the photos. Each one held an inscription similar to the first:

 _To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense; your foot shall slide in due time: for the day of your calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon you make haste._

 _Unto thee will I give the land of Canaan, the lot of your inheritance._

 _For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings._

 _Truth is nowhere to be found, and whoever shuns evil becomes a prey._

"They're all just more Bible quotations," Detective Crowe stated the obvious.

"No shit, jackass," Jane goaded her colleague, begging for a confrontation. She was just itching to take her anger out on someone.

Lieutenant Korsak, who was standing at the front of the room next to the whiteboard, cleared his throat firmly. Picking up a black dry erase marker, he began to write beneath each picture, reading his captions out loud as he went, "Deuteronomy 32, verse 35. First Chronicles 16, verse 18. Hosea 6, verse 6. Isaiah 59, verse 15," drawing a line under each one. Placing the cap back on the marker with a click, he looked out at the squad of detectives before him.

"There's no doubt what we're looking at is another puzzle," he informed them, "and _we_ have to solve it. We know Drake likes to toy with us, and this time won't be any different. So the most obvious answer won't be the right one. We need you all to dig. Whatever you can come up with, some way to connect all the dots, you bring it to either myself or Detective Rizzoli. We need everyone on their best game here, guys. We don't go home until we bring Dr. Isles back."

The sea of men and a few women, some in uniform, nodded their heads in understanding. Most of them had had, at some point or another in their careers, the pleasure of working with Boston's Chief Medical Examiner, or her very skilled, very organized forensics team. Over her tenure there, she had come to be highly respected and regarded (even if not always very well understood) by her peers, helping them to close some of the most baffling cases and put away some of Boston's worst criminals. Now, they were all eager to help.

Korsak spoke again. "The only obvious clue we've got is the name Canaan. Is he referring to a person, a place? Start there. I want every iota of information you can find about this name. We need to be smarter than him, people. Instincts here are not going to suffice. We can't ignore any angle." And with that, he waved a hand to dismiss them, and the cluster of officers and detectives dispersed in various directions.

* * *

"Eat," he instructed, handing the tray which held a sandwich wrapped in cellophane to Maura, who was still sitting on the ground, eyes trained on the bag he was carrying. That was not part of their routine. For the past two days, he would come twice – once in the morning, and once in the evening - to give her something to eat. He never had anything with him except the tray of food and the solid, heavy key which he unconcernedly slid into and out of his pocket, as if to make a point of the fact he did not see Maura as a threat.

The bag was new. As Maura, out of habit, reached up with her good arm to take the food from Kent, he bent down slightly to catch her gaze.

"Wondering what's in here, are we?" he teased, pointing to his side where the bag dangled, and Maura was struck sharply by the contrast between how innocuous and even friendly his tone sounded, like he really was just kidding around, and the dire reality of the situation she was in.

She averted her eyes, looking down at her meal, and his demeanor sobered.

"Well," he continued, "just a little while longer Dr. Isles. Then this will all be over." There was a hint of melancholy to his voice now.

This was definitely different. He was talking. Maura's nerves were buzzing, hyper-aware of the apparent and sudden changes in his behavior, her body and mind vigilant, unsure of what to expect next.

"Oh, go on, Maura," he solicited, and the use of her first name was jarringly distressing, "eat up. I promise it's just a sandwich." Setting the bag down on the floor with an unceremonious thump, he turned away from her, adding "We've just got one more thing to do today and then we'll be ready."

As she couldn't stomach the idea of eating right now, Maura set the tray down beside her on the ground, watching as Kent unzipped the duffel and removed its contents one by one. Immediately, she recognized the tripod and camera which he went to work setting up, and Maura figured correctly that he was planning on taking more pictures of her. What he would do with them was beyond her, but she prayed silently that he was just stupid and arrogant enough to send them to BPD. She knew just how capable of they were back home of finding a needle in a haystack.

Then again, she realized, fear biting at the back of her throat, so did he.

Out of the bag also came a piece of white poster board which had been rolled into a tube, and a small bundle, something wrapped in a white cloth. He set the latter down delicately on the floor, and Maura assumed it must contain something fragile.

Once he finished his preparations, he again turned towards Maura.

"Not hungry?" he asked, pausing a second before adding, "that's fine, forget it. Just stand up." He motioned for her to get to her feet. For a brief moment, Maura contemplated disobeying the order, but the pain behind her ribs caused her to think better of it. She rose slowly and made her way to the center of the small room where he had placed one of the buckets on its mouth, gesturing for her to sit down it. When she did, she was staring straight into the glassy black lens of the camera.

"Good." He moved towards her, picking up the roll of paper from where he had laid it and removing the thin rubber band which had been holding it in a tubular shape. As it reverberated against the hollow channel, the elastic band sent out a rattling vibration that rose in pitch and echoed just slightly. Something was written on the inside, and, Maura could see, there was also a length of twine tied at each end to the corners of the sign.

Puzzle pieces. More puzzle pieces she didn't know how to reconcile. Kent took a few steps, closing the gap between himself and his prisoner, and Maura flinched as he bent over her just slightly.

When he slipped the loop of twine over Maura's tangled, honey-blonde locks, Maura realized she was wearing a crude sign hanging around her neck over her chest. She compelled herself not to look down to read what was written, refusing to give Kent the satisfaction. He stepped back, studying his subject and, apparently satisfied, turned once more to retrieve the last of his props, which he scooped up tenderly with both hands.

Maura couldn't contain the horrified cry that escaped her lips when she saw a tiny, pale hand peeking out from where the white cloth had come unraveled.

"Dear God, Kent, what…" she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut and rapidly turning away from him as he approached, cradling the bundle in his arms.

Perplexed, he stopped just short of Maura, looking first at her and then down to see what the fuss was about. When he realized what had caused Maura's outcry, he broke into a piercing, shrill laughter.

"Really, Maura? You honestly think…" he tried between peals of hysterics, "… you really think I'd actually…" The fits of laughter died quickly when he got no response from his captive.

As she wouldn't turn or open her eyes to look at him, he walked around to her front, crouching down to her level. Taking her chin in one hand, he squeezed it hard as he lifted her face. The pain of the cut on her chin reopening caused her eyelids to flutter open. He was inches from her, staring straight into her eyes. He was boiling.

"I would not ever…" he seethed, spitting as he spoke, "I would not ever hurt a child, Dr. Isles. You, of all people, should know that."

And with that, he shoved what he was holding into Maura's lap.

Relief rolled over Maura as she saw what was wrapped inside the white blanket. A baby doll.

A fucking baby doll.

Maura Isles never swore, but had there been anyone there to share her shock and disbelief with other than Kent Drake, she was sure she would have said it out loud. She was both immensely thankful that she was wrong about what she thought she'd seen, and completely disarmed by how absolutely ridiculous it was.

"Hold it like it's real," Drake commanded her, rising and walking to stand behind the camera.

It didn't take Maura long to theorize about Kent's rationale. He _was_ going to send whatever pictures he took to BPD -no. To Jane.

Jane. A baby.

The baby.

There was once going to be a baby in their lives. Maura had spent countless sleepless nights surfing the internet, ordering top-line ergonomic strollers and state-of-the-art video baby monitors. She had been overwhelmed in the best possible way by the _cuteness_ of it all – the bibs and the stuffed animals, a French teething toy named Sophie the Giraffe, little, tiny onesies and cradles, diaper bags, rocking chairs. She'd bought it all. And she'd read all the literature – medical publications and how-to parenting guides. She'd even contacted one of her old friends from med school who was now a practicing OBGYN at Boston General, asking if she wouldn't mind allowing Maura to shadow her a few times so she could "brush up on her delivery techniques", she'd written in the email. She had decided not to tell Jane about that - hadn't wanted to worry her unnecessarily - but Maura wanted to be prepared in case they couldn't make it to the hospital in time.

Though she wasn't actually carrying the baby, Maura was, for all intents and purposes, nesting.

And then there was no more baby and Maura without a word had made any reminder of it disappear. She donated it all to a local women's shelter which was more than happy to send some volunteers to come to her house, pack everything up and cart it away. When they'd ask what they should take, she'd just said, " _Everything_."

All these thoughts and memories and _feelings_ flashed inside Maura within the span of a second, and she let the doll fall gracelessly with a muted thud to the floor.

She wouldn't play along in this twisted mind-game.

But it wasn't a game to Kent. He was not playing.

In an instant, he was right there next to her, towering, and he kicked the bucket out from beneath Maura with a loud blow, sending her flying backwards and to the ground, landing hard on her side, the sign around her neck swinging to the side beneath one arm. She cried out as the pain surged through her and struggled to find a breath while she scrambled slowly backwards. He stalked towards her.

"Please," she pleaded for the second time two days. "Please, Kent, stop!" She was nearly shouting with anguish, imploring him to not do this. To not do any of this. To just stop, all of it.

The heel of his workboot slammed down onto the hand she was using to try and prop herself up, and the agony as the tiny bones in her fingers were crushed made her buckle and fall back to the ground.

"You don't get it!" he roared. "She thinks she's invincible." He lifted his foot just slightly before pressing back down with all his weight. "She's not a hero, Dr. Isles. She's got to learn to appreciate what she has. Not throw it all away on a whim." Maura turned her head to the left, then the right, rapidly and repeatedly, shaking her head as if she were trying to prevent his words from making their way in through her ears to her brain. She mouthed "no" over and over and over again, but no sound came out.

"She risks her life, and for what?!" he bellowed. "For her job. For the fame. For glory. To have her picture on the front page. She never thinks about how selfish she is. Her sacrifice," his tone sarcastic and mocking on that last word, "isn't worth it. She hurts people." And had Maura not been trapped beneath a madman she might have thought about how she something eerily similar had often crossed her mind – how, though she understood Jane's motives, she'd often wished she _would_ stop and think about her family, her friends… about _her_... before she went hurling herself into harm's way.

But in this moment, Maura's fear left little room for such realizations.

When he was done with his beating, Kent hooked his arms under Maura's and dragged her back to his impromptu stage. She was conscious, but limp, stunned into stillness. Blood dripped from her chin and a gash above her right eye. Righting the overturned bucket, Kent hoisted her up. She barely managed to keep herself upright, swaying back and forth slightly as she fought to steady herself on her seat with her knees and thighs. Retrieving the doll, he placed it in Maura's arms, and straightened the crumpled sign around her neck. He moved around to take his place behind the tripod, and he bent to focus the frame.

She didn't mean to. She had tried so hard not to. She'd done everything she could to avoid it. But when her head had involuntarily rolled forward, the pain in her neck and spine too unyielding to hold it up, she saw the sign that hung at her chest and she couldn't help but read the words that were written there.

A guttural, wretched sob echoed in the small cement chamber, and up and out through the small openings beneath the roof, and out into the woods, marked only by the soft, artificial click of a digital shutter.

* * *

In little over two hours, the board had been filled with leads on Canaan. There was a Canaan, New York just over the border from Massachusetts that got everyone in a flurry, though it seemed to be too simple. They sent out two detectives from the 14th precinct to check it out all the same. There was also a Canaan, Connecticut whose local authorities had been contacted, and a pair of officers were sent to Canaan Road in Richmond, Massachusetts.

The quotation in particular seemed to be referencing God's promise to the Israelites to return them to the Land of Canaan – in other terms, to the Promised Land. Snippets printed out from various internet sources had been taped up on the board.

Jane's desk was littered with little slips of paper – numbers, sequences, combinations, codes. She'd been focusing on the chapter and verse numbers, like 5:26. She'd tried bank accounts, social security numbers, zip codes. Anything she could think of.

This had been Frost's kind of thing. He'd have known how to put them all into some computer program and make it spit out all the possible variations and deviations and computations.

Jane hated math.

But her gut told her that somehow, the numbers were the key. Frustrated and acutely aware that every minute that ticked by was another minute she'd wasted in getting closer to Maura, Jane turned to look at the crime board. That photo of Maura pasted up there felt like ghost. More than once she'd come close to giving in to the urge to walk over there and rip it down, but every time she swallowed it and made herself focus. " _Lean in, Jane_."

Glaring at the board now, she noticed something odd about the way photocopies of the backs of all the photographs had been put up on the board. The first one, the one containing the first inscription she'd read, was posted horizontally, length-wise, landscape, "like a hamburger bun" her nephew TJ would say. The other three, they were all "hotdog buns", or vertical. She stood to move closer to the whiteboard, examining each one closely. They had been hung that way because that's the way the quotes were written.

" _Maybe it was just because the first quote was longer_?" Jane reasoned.

But nothing he did was by chance. Her instincts told her this meant something too.

Horizontal. Vertical. Up, down, left, right, top, bottom.

"Nina!" Jane called out, turning quickly away from the board and walking toward the tech room. Detective Holiday spun in her raised swivel chair to look at Jane, who was holding up a slip of paper as she approached. "Nina, can you help me with something?"

"Of course, Detective Rizzoli. Just tell me what." She tried to keep her tone as light as possible.

"Look, I've got an idea. What if these numbers here," she placed the slip of paper where she had written 32:35, 16:18, 6:6, and 59:15 on the desk next to Nina's keyboard, "what if they somehow add up to longitude and latitude coordinates? Like, GPS coordinates?"

Nina sighed. "I thought of that Jane, but all the possible combinations turn out to be some place in the middle of the ocean or on the other side of the world."

Jane chewed her lip for moment, her eyes narrowed, mind churning. When she spoke again, she sounded resolute. "Try leaving out the first one – 32:35. Try it with just those other three?"

Nina raised an eyebrow, wondering how Jane's thought process worked, but she knew better than to question Jane Rizzoli's knack for figuring out the most impossible of enigmas. So she nodded and acquiesced, "Sure Jane, it'll just take a a while to check all the possible combinations against the coordinates. I'll let you know if I get something."

"Thanks," Jane said, and it came out quieter than she had meant for it to. She gently patted Nina on the shoulder as a sign of gratefulness – it was all the contact she could bear – before quickly turning to go back to her desk, too impatient to wait while Nina ran the numbers. She got about five steps away when…

"Jane!" Nina's voice was frantic. "Jane, Jane, seriously."

Detective Rizzoli spun on her heels and was back instantaneously, staring at the computer screen in front of them.

Nina explained, "Jane I don't know what made you think of leaving out those first numbers, but – look here…" She was pointing to a green shape on a map. "I just added the chapter numbers together, and the verse numbers together, and checked the coordinates… 81, 39."

"What am I looking at, Nina?" Jane pushed impatiently, her heart thundering against her eardrums.

"This – it's a national park in West Virginia. Canaan Valley."

"Oh G-god," Jane stuttered, leaning in closer to the screen to see for herself. "Jesus, look. There. Right there. That fucking highway there – highway 32." Thirty-two, one of the other two numbers. The only one that was missing was thirty-five, but Jane was sure it signaled some exit or mile marker or billboard. "I've got to call Korsak. We've got to go there. Now."

At that very moment, Jane's cellphone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, praying it was Korsak or Frankie so she could tell them about this breakthrough she was certain was no coincidence, she saw that she had a new email in her BPD inbox. She was about to swipe "ignore" when she read the sender's name:"Anonymous". Hurrying back to her desk without a word, she double-clicked on the email icon and opened the program. Nina, who was alerted by Jane's sudden departure from her side, had followed her tentatively and was standing a few feet away, waiting to see what it was that had stolen Jane's attention from what seemed to her like the most important discovery they'd made so far.

"Nina, can you trace emails?" Jane was asking as she tapped her finger impatiently and shaking the plastic mouse, anxious for her inbox to load.

"Yes, Jane. What's going on?"

But Jane didn't answer. She had opened the email which contained a link, and another page popped up on her screen. It was all black except for two empty white text boxes in the middle, separated by a hyphen.

"What were those coordinates?" Jane husked, and Nina, deciding against asking again for an explanation of Jane's odd behavior, merely responded, "Thirty-nine, eighty-one."

Jane typed the numbers in to the boxes, not sure what was driving her besides sheer instinct, but lo and behold, when she pressed enter, a file began to download to her desktop. An image file. She couldn't bring herself to open it, and Nina, slowly putting the pieces together, stooped beside her now and reached across to move the cursor. In just a few seconds, the file was open and displaying garishly on Jane's monitor.

Both women sat silent for what seemed like an eternity, paralyzed at the sight. There before them was a bloody, hunched Maura, holding a baby (was it real? Jane couldn't tell) and wearing a sign around her neck. It took Jane a few moments before she read the words inscribed there, too focused as she was on Maura's physical state. When she finally did, she was unable to keep herself from plunging her fist straight through the monitor, sending it crashing to the floor and scattering in pieces.

Nina Holiday had seen the terrifying scene too. After a few moments, she'd turned away, mostly out of horror at what she saw, but also out of respect, for Jane, after she'd read the words that were suspended in front of Dr. Isles:

 _Isaiah 49:10 Can a woman forget her child? That she should not have compassion on the son in her womb? Yea, she may forget, yet I will not forget._

* * *

 **A/N: Okay guys, don't hate me! And... we're getting closer! As usual, this story has a total mind of its own. This one is a bit longer than the rest because, like I said, I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again in the next few weeks.**

 **In my attempts to keep everything as canon/real-life as possible, I took a lot of time to re-watch all the Kent scenes, as well as research scripture and GPS coordinates et al. Canaan Valley is an actual place in WV and those are (relatively) the real coordinates. Also, the approximate time it took for Kent and Maura to drive from Boston the night of the abduction to when they arrived at the shack in the woods would be enough for them to get there, so I'm really doing my best to avoid any irksome inconsistencies. Hope it's paying off.**

 **Please, if you have a second, leave a review to let me know you're still following along. I'm pretty busy with school and the holidays so updating is taking a bit longer, but your comments are the BEST motivation to get up and write in the middle of the night! ;-P**

 **Much love to you all and thanks again for all the support. I'm so glad I finally decided to give this fanfic thing a try!**


	7. Gods

**A/N: This is only really half of Chapter 7. But it's already taken me longer than I'd like to get this out here, so I'm posting what I've got done now with the promise to post the rest of it SOON. So it's short, but it's a step forward and we're SO close to the big moment, guys, so stick with me.**

 **Thank you all for your overwhelmingly positive comments and encouragement. Please keep letting me know, one way or the other, how you're feeling about all this. I've got a pretty clear idea of where this is all going, but... do you want our heroines to come of out this relatively unscathed? Or should there be more HURT than comfort for the time being? Lemme know!**

* * *

Jane tapped fingers repeatedly against her inner thigh. Her knuckles were bruised, tiny cuts scabbing over which she picked at nervously.

This had been the quickest way to get there, she knew, but she hated having her feet off the ground. It made her feel out of control. More out of control than she already was in this whole situation, if that were possible.

Jane and Korsak were currently on a private jet headed to Elkins, West Virginia, whose small local airport was the closest runway to Canaan Valley. From there they'd have another 45 minute drive, but this was by far the fastest way to reach her. Commercial flights would have only gotten them as far as Bridgeport, which was over twice as far from their destination, not to mention the time that would have been wasted on check-in, airport security, boarding and disembarking. Jane didn't want to spend a second more than she had to in getting to Canaan Valley… to Maura. Driving from Boston was out of the question – it would have taken almost half a day.

So Jane had done the only thing she could think of – she called Dr. Isles, the other Dr. Isles, and asked for his help. Arthur and his wife Constance had been utterly beside themselves with grief ever since learning of the abduction of their only child, but beyond offering up their immense financial resources, they were entirely ill-equipped to assist in helping bring her home.

 _"_ _Please let us know if there is anything we can do, Jane," Constance had managed in barely more than a whisper when Jane called her in the middle of the night, only hours after Maura had been taken, to inform them of what had happened before the morning news circuit could. "Find her, Jane, please," the distraught mother had begged unabashedly. Jane wasn't sure why she was so surprised by the torrent of raw emotion that came from the woman on the other end of the line as she sobbed desperately – that was the reaction you'd expect any mother to have in a similar situation. But Jane had really never viewed Constance Isles as "any mother", and so she was shocked, but also quite touched, at her outpouring of sentiment. Jane wondered briefly in that moment if Maura wouldn't have been a little surprised, too._

So when Jane had seen that last, horrible picture of Maura on her computer screen, she'd thought of nothing other than how to get to the West Virginian national park in as short a time as possible. Arthur Isles was more than happy to arrange for a private jet for the detectives, and in little over an hour after Jane and Nina discovered the coordinates which set this ball in motion, she and Korsak were on their way.

Although the case involved a high-profile figure like the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, daughter of two of Boston's wealthiest, most prestigious socialites, not to mention the biological child of convicted felon and Irish mob boss Patrick Doyle, until now Jane had managed to keep the FBI out of it. Now, though, as their only lead was clearly taking them across state lines, Korsak had had no choice but to contact and involve the Feds, no matter how much Jane protested. She feared they'd pull the carpet out from under them, cut Jane out of the investigation entirely and Jane was certain they'd never find Maura.

On the contrary, fortunately, some higher-up with his head screwed on right and his ego in check had acknowledged that Korsak and, especially, Detective Rizzoli, despite her ties to the case, were much better prepared – they were well acquainted with the suspect, not to mention the victim, and bringing an FBI team up to speed would have wasted time they didn't have to spare.

So the compromise was that the FBI would send an agent to meet Vince and Jane at the airport in Elkins, and two more to the Boston Police Department to work with Frankie and Nina. They would coordinate their efforts, but Jane and Korsak remained the lead investigators on the case.

Jane squeezed her knees and rubbed both palms up and down the length of her thighs, resisting the urge to get up and go the cockpit to demand the pilot to fly faster.

"Are you still sure you don't want to alert the local PD?" Korsak spoke, breaking the tense silence in their small but comfortable cabin.

Jane settled back against the leather seat. "Yes, I'm sure. I don't want them screwing this up before we even get there. You know how these small town officers are – Chief Wiggum and Deputy Fife who think they're some badass Starsky and Hutch." Jane shook her head, "No, no. I want this done right, Vince. Maura's life is at stake. It's bad enough we have to have a Suit tagging along."

Korsak nodded, more in acquiescence than agreement. She was right, there was always the risk of mistakes being made when you involve more people. And perhaps Jane was even right that the risk wasn't worth the pay off. But he worried, though he would never say it, if perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that Jane wanted – perhaps even _needed –_ to be the person who saved Dr. Isles.

So letting a few seconds pass, his brow furrowed and in a low, cautionary tone, all Korsak had left to say was, "He knows we're coming, Jane."

Another silent pause stretched between them, the deep vibrating purr of the jet's engines the only sound filling the space.

Finally, minutes later, Jane sighed, her voice shaking ever so slightly, "I know, Vince. I know."

Neither said anything more about it.

* * *

Her whole body ached unbelievably.

"We've got to make you a bit more presentable."

Multiple lacerations to her face and arms. The intermediate phalanges in the three central fingers of her left hand were certainly broken as well as a distal radius fracture – a broken wrist, in laymen's terms - on the same hand. Deep purple contusions and angry red abrasions, too many to count, covering her chest, her back, her arms, her legs. Fractured ribs. Swollen facial tissue around one eye and cheekbone.

Maura tried to assess her physical condition, cataloguing each wound or injury much in the same way she did with the bodies that ended up on her table in the morgue. Methodical. Detached. Searching patiently to find the one or ones which had been the cause of death. Fatal.

"I really thought we'd have more time. Got to hand it to that detective of yours, Dr. Isles. She's a clever one. Sort of. I knew she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation."

Broken bones, cuts, bruises, swelling. All of them painful, yes, but, as Maura inventoried each external injury, none of them fatal. That was something. That counted for something.

Rivulets of water snaked down her temples, along her jaw, pooling in her _fossa jugularis sternalis_ , or, the hollow space between her clavicle and the base of her neck.

"I _am_ sorry, Dr. Isles. You probably don't believe me."

A damp sponge drew slowly against her forehead, softly scraping at the dirt and dried blood caked in her eyebrows and hairline.

"I want you to know I truly am sorry that it had to be you. But…"

Maura squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to but physically unable to pull away.

"… she won't learn unless it's you. And she has to learn."

Maura had never been a devoutly religious person. She was fascinated by belief systems, and knew perhaps more than many religious scholars about the world's vast variety of theologies. But personally, she'd always found more comfort in science, in facts, than in intangible, omniscient higher beings. Not that she ruled out the possibility, but for her, holy scriptures had been medical text books and scientific journals. Scientific inquiry, she'd always believed, held the real key to the mysteries of the universe.

Now, though, she prayed. She prayed to God, all Gods, any God, beseeching someone or something more powerful than her to have pity, to have mercy.

Not on her, though.

"Anyway, it will all be over soon enough."

Maura Isles was not praying for her own salvation.

* * *

It had been stupid of her, to give away their advantage like that. She'd fallen right into his trap. Again. But that screen had opened on her computer, an empty black page with two little white boxes mocking her, cajoling her, challenging her to prove she was just as clever as he was, that she'd solved his stupid puzzle, and Jane hadn't thought about anything except trying the coordinates she and Nina had just discovered. And she'd been rewarded for her brilliance and stupidity and impetuosity with the most horrific scene she could have ever imagined.

Maura, broken, battered, bloody, mid-sob.

Only afterwards, when her computer lay in pieces on the squad room floor, had Jane realized her mistake. By typing in the coordinates and downloading the photograph, she'd no doubt alerted him to the fact that they knew where he was.

She'd taken out her anger and frustration against the locker room wall.

"Detective Rizzoli?" A man dressed in jeans and a tan Carhartt jacket walked towards the pair of Boston police who had just disembarked from the private jet onto his runway. He stretched out his hand, "Not every day we have a craft like this one on our tarmac, not to mention two detectives! Must be somebody pretty important you're chasing after? I sure would…"

"Vince Korsak," the senior detective cut in, shaking the man's hand firmly, introducing himself and then, " _this_ is Detective Rizzoli."

"Ah! A lady cop! Nice to meet you. I'm supposed to give you a message when you arrive. A guy named Greer called, about a half an hour ago, said you'd be expecting him. He's caught up in traffic. Said I should tell you to call him when you landed." The man dug into one of his pant pockets, then the other, fishing out a small scrap of paper. "He said to tell you 'Wait here. He'll be here soon.'"

"Like hell," Jane growled, walking past the airport attendant towards the only building. Korsak nodded apologetically to the man and the quickly turned to follow after her.

"Jane," he called out. "Jane, wait up." But she didn't turn back or slow her pace, her long legs carrying her in swift strides towards the exit. Korsak had to launch into an easy jog to catch up to her.

"Jane, we don't have a car."

"We'll find one," she husked, and there was no more discussion on the topic.

After little more than half an hour, they finally made the turn north on to highway 32. There were many access points to the Canaan Valley park, but Jane's gut told her that somewhere along this road, aptly named the Appalachian Highway, she'd come across something – a sign, a billboard – with the number 35. Deuteronomy 32:35.

 _…_ _for the day of your calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon you make haste._

She was close, now. She could feel it. Highway 32, look for a 35. That's all she kept telling herself, over and over again. Find the 35, find Maura.

The sun was just starting to slide down between the mountains. They had an hour, perhaps, before it sank completely below the horizon and dusk came, and Jane was racing against Nature's clock. She knew that she had to at least find _something_ , some clue, before the darkness came, or she'd be out wandering aimlessly in literally the middle of nowhere.

Find the 35, find Maura.

"Jane! There." Korsak's voice was quick and forceful, like a bullet. Jane slammed her foot against the brake and slowed to look in the direction indicated by Korsak's hand.

Along the side of the highway, barely two feet high, sticking up out of tall grass and weeds, nearly hidden against the metal guardrail, was a flat pillar of white stone with the number 35 carved at the top. A vintage mile-marker.

"God, Vince. This is it. This has got to be it," Jane had already pulled their rental as far off the road as she could, yanking the parking brake into place and turning on the emergency hazard lights. Jumping out of the driver's side, she made her way around to the edge of the road and knelt down to examine the weathered stone post. It must have been there for at least a century, if not more. Korsak unbuckled his seatbelt too and got out of the car, moving to stand behind Jane. He stood silent for a minute, observing their surroundings.

"There's nothing here," he stated with disappointment.

He was right. There was absolutely nothing else in sight that could point them in the right direction. Just an old mile marker and a vast expanse of trees on either side of the road. Beyond the guardrail, the ground sloped down slightly for a few yards and then rose up again. They were at the foot of a small mountain.

"This is it, Korsak. I know it," Jane argued. She rose and was on her feet again, pacing a few feet in each direction, scanning the area for some other sign. The sky was slowly turning a more purplish shade of blue.

Lieutenant Korsak was on the proverbial fence. On the one hand, time was of the essence and couldn't be wasted chasing down hunches, especially ones that potentially meant traipsing off into the woods after a madman just before sundown with no back-up. Besides, just which way were they supposed to go from here?

On the other hand, Korsak knew he didn't have it in him to challenge Jane. He was her senior, of course, and in any other situation he would not have surrendered so forthright. But all his fortitude and prudence had abandoned him the minute Maura had been kidnapped. It hit too close to home for him. If Jane thought this was the spot, then he saw no other choice than to concede.

Korsak did wonder if he'd regret this later – regret not having pushed back harder, pushed Jane to look for more tangible leads. But, maybe – just maybe – this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

So, with a restless sigh, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket, quickly typed in a message and then, lifting one leg first, then the other, over the low guardrail, headed off down the short decline, making his way towards the trees.

"Whoa. Wait! Where are you going? Did you see something?" Jane was quick to catch up to him.

"You say you're sure this is it?" he called out over his shoulder, not turning around to look at the brunette following him. "Then let's start looking. In there." He held up a short, plump finger, pointing towards the thick forest and the steep incline just a few yards ahead of them.

The temperature dropped a few degrees, whether from the setting sun or the shade of the dense wood, Jane wasn't sure. Without a sure indicator of which way to go, they had opted for as straight a line as possible perpendicular to the highway. Every fifty yards or so, Korsak stopped briefly to carve a deep notch into the bark of a tree with his pocketknife and to check the signal on his cellphone, which so far was holding, though it had already dropped three bars.

After not even five minutes of hiking, mostly in silence, Jane pulled to a halt.

"Prey," she said, almost inaudible.

"Come again?"

"Prey," she repeated louder. "One of those damn bible quotes… it said something about… becoming prey."

Korsak, still not understanding, shook his head and stared at the younger detective, catching his breath, waiting.

"That," she began again, pointing towards a spot on the ground, "I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that's a game trail. Maura…" Jane swallowed hard, "I remember Maura jabbering on about these little paths that animals leave. 'Their own little network of roads' she said. They tend to stick to the same routes. See, there, how it's more worn down?" Jane pointed behind and then in front of her again. "We've been following it without even realizing it."

Korsak squinted, focusing on the ground below them. It was barely noticeable, but Jane was right. A faint line of trodden earth snaked forward from where they were standing, not exactly straight but curving gently, taking the easiest and most unobstructed path upwards.

"Then we should keep following it, I suppose," Korsak finally replied, though it came out more of a question than he'd intended.

Jane had already started up the trail when Korsak spoke again, with more conviction.

"Jane," he called out, his voice sober. The detective turned around to face him. "Jane, I'm with you in this, one hundred percent. You know that. That's not going to change. But," he hesitated, just briefly, "I'd be doing us both a disservice if I didn't say this now, before it's too late. Drake is a dangerous man, and you know he'll be waiting for us. You just said it yourself, Jane – "prey" – we might be walking straight into a trap. I know you don't think there's time, but we _should_ wait, at least for back-up to get here. We don't…" Korsak trailed off, and Jane tilted her head up, face unreadable, prompting him to continue.

"We don't even know we're going the right way."

Jane was about to protest, but Korsak held up a hand to stop her.

"We're here now, and we're going to keep going. That's not what I'm saying."

Jane was at the limit of her patience. "Then what are you saying, Vince? Spit it out," she snapped.

"What I'm saying is that, if you _are_ right… if this _is_ it, then we'd be foolish to just go walking up there without any plan." His voice was louder now, more authoritative.

Jane's words came out fast and heated. "So what are you proposing? Waiting here? For who? Calling in the cavalry? That'll just spook him, and you know it. So tell me, what exactly are you proposing? Because I can't just stand around here doing nothing while I _know_ ," her voice dropping an octave to emphasize that last word, pressing an open palm to her chest to show how she _felt_ this, "my best friend is out here somewhere in the hands of psychopath, alone and beaten, all because of me."

Those last four words hung between them like a thick fog. When Vince didn't reply, Jane continued, more calm this time but still slightly agitated, "You go back. Go back and radio in for reinforcements, and when they get here you show them the way. You're right, that's the smartest thing to do."

This time it was Korsak's turn to say "Like hell. You know I'm not going to let you go on alone."

Jane did know, and right now she hated him for his devotion to her. She knew he was right, that she was leading them both straight into the mouth of the lion's den, but what was she supposed to do? Something inside her somewhere was telling her that she was close – _so_ close – to finding Maura. She couldn't turn back now, and she couldn't stop to come up with any plan other than find Maura. Find her. Find her and save her. That was all she could do now.

And Korsak would follow her into Hell, and she hated him for it, but she couldn't turn back now, not even for him.

* * *

"Dear God please don't let it be too late," Maura whispered over and over to herself.

She wasn't sure when it had happened. But it had. A while ago.

A revelation of sorts.

Perhaps when Jane jumped off the bridge into black, frigid waters. Maura had screamed her name over and over again, as if it would recall her best friend from the dark, murky depths, her eyes frantically searching the surface for any sign of life. Of _that_ life – that precious, wild, beautiful life that meant absolutely everything to her.

Yes, something had shifted then. Something inside Maura had given way, like a flood levee, something she'd built up over time to keep the high water out, to keep her safe on dry land. But Jane had jumped and the barrier broke and Maura felt it all come barreling towards her, engulfing her and swallowing her, like _she_ was the one drowning.

She hadn't said anything. Not to Jane, not to anyone. Partly because she wasn't sure what it was. All she knew was that it was different, and that it _was_.

But mostly, she let herself admit now, she was terrified of the wreckage she was certain this flood would leave in its wake. The aftermath.

So she'd kept it to herself, this glorious, gut-wrenching revelation.

And now she prayed to as many Gods as she could think of, for just these two things: to please… _please_ just give her one more chance to say it out loud, to say it to Jane so that'd she'd finally know, and to _please_ take care of Jane, keep her safe.


	8. Trust me

And there it was.

Smack dab in the middle of small clearing where the mountain terrain had been levelled out. Jane immediately recognized the cement and cinderblock walls from the background of the photos of Maura.

The sun had finally settled below the horizon only minutes before, but the night was quickly coming to take its place. Twilight clung on, casting its dusky crepuscular light out across the sky like a lantern shining behind layers of sapphire-colored silk – muted, but still illuminating, for now at least, until darkness crept up on her from the East and snuffed out her flame.

It was right fucking there. A few hundred yards perhaps from where Jane now stood, motionless, eyes scouring the clearing for any sign of life.

There was a gravel path which wound its way around the other side of the cement building and seemingly disappeared into the side of the mountain. No lights or sounds came from that direction. Turning silently towards Korsak, who stood only a few feet behind her, she mouthed, "Call it in."

Korsak shook his head, whispering almost inaudibly and holding up his phone, "I lost signal ten minutes ago."

Jane checked her phone too, but if was futile, and her eyes widened, suddenly realizing the shit she was knee-deep in. Korsak was right – this was the most idiotic idea she'd had thus far, to just go charging forth without any sort of plan or assistance. Sensing his former partner's distress, Korsak inched a little closer, whispering again, "Backup is already on the way, Jane. I texted Nina when we left the car, told her to track my phone, and keep Agent Greer and the local authorities informed of our whereabouts. They shouldn't be far behind us."

That last part was a lie. Sort of. Korsak _had_ contacted Detective Holiday, and she _was_ tracking him and relaying their movements to the FBI agent who was supposed to have met them at the airport. He'd also asked Nina to contact the local PD and explain everything, but tell them to stay absolutely put until Greer showed up. But Korsak had no idea just exactly how far behind them their backup actually was.

It didn't matter. He knew that Jane wasn't going to wait for them, whether it was ten seconds or ten minutes or an hour, and so he'd lied to her. If they were going to go in blind, which they were - there was no getting around it - he wanted Jane to go in with as much confidence as she could manage. There was no telling what they would find inside that cement shack and Korsak knew, from experience, that she'd need all the strength she had to face it.

"Once around?" Jane made a circular motion with her head, indicating that she wanted to scout the perimeter of the clearing before approaching the shack. Korsak, half surprised she hadn't just gone racing towards the building, signaled 'yes' with his eyebrows and chin, and then mouthed, "I'm right behind you," before crouching slightly and following Jane who had already started off to their left.

Their brief search turned up few clues, but gave them two important insights. One, the gravel pathway that started at the only door of the structure lead directly into an opening in the side of the mountain – the mouth of a cave, perhaps, or an old mine entrance. It was not big enough for a vehicle to pass through, and there was no other access road, which meant that he had to have come here on foot, just like they had.

Two was that there didn't seem to be any visible source of electricity leading to or away from the area, nor was there a generator or solar panels, anything that could provide power. This pointed towards the fact that he did at least on one occasion leave the site. The place was seemingly entirely isolated, and unless Kent was working with an accomplice, he had had to both mail the first set of pictures as well as connect to the internet at least once in the past three days. How far he had to go, or where he went, was still an unknown, but it gave Jane a sliver of improbable hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd gotten there sooner than he was expecting and he wouldn't be back yet, and they'd have the upper hand.

Drawing their weapons, they approached the building from the side facing the incline, obscuring their view of the cave opening, which meant they couldn't see him if he came at that moment, but he wouldn't be able to see them right away either. Eyes and ears peeled, nerves on high alert, they closed the distance to the shack in seconds, flattening themselves against the cold, damp side. Jane looked up – the makeshift roof jutted out a few inches past the wall and hung over her like an awning, and she could see from where she was standing that there was a small gap between the roof and the top of the wall.

She coaxed in a heavy, forced whisper, "Mau-ra! Maur-, please, can you hear me?"

Only the whir of crickets and cicadas starting their evening chorus answered back.

Jane tried again, louder this time, "Maura, please. If you can hear me, make a noise, anything, just let me know you're in there." The idea that Maura could be just on the other side of this barrier was almost unbearable, and tears stung the corner of the brunette's eyes, but did not dare spill over.

Still no answer.

Korsak, first shaking his head to tell Jane that it was pointless to try again – maybe she was bound, or unconscious, or… - then nodding towards the side where they'd seen the metal door, moved against exterior of the building, Glock secured tightly in both hands and pointed out in front of him. Clearing around the corner, he and Jane approached the door steadily, cautiously.

Korsak pressed his hand flush against the barrier, pushing just slightly to test its give.

"It's open."

Jane's eyes grew wide, confusion and apprehension written across her face. Korsak was right. This was too easy. They were literally just walking right in. Her heart sunk. Nothing with Kent was ever easy or straightforward. There was a catch, somewhere, and, looking at her long-time friend and partner, she realized now that she wasn't going to let him get caught in the snare.

"Get back," Jane ordered. Korsak didn't move an inch.

"I mean it, Vince. Get back. There's only the two of us here. If this place is rigged, I'm gonna need someone on the outside to get me out of whatever mess is waiting for me in there." Jane paused briefly, taking a deep breath and letting her words sink in, before adding, "You know I have to go in. I can't wait. You know that."

He did know that. He'd been there, years and years ago. And so against every instinct, against everything his gut was screaming at him not to do, Vincent Korsak just nodded once, and growled, "You've got a thirty seconds Jane. Thirty seconds before I'm coming in. So if this whole thing doesn't blow you to pieces right away, you damn well better call out to me – let me know what's in there, because I'm right behind you."

As Korsak retreated cautiously but swiftly to a safe distance, Jane turned once again to the door. Resting a flat palm against cool metal, the muscles in her forearm flexed and tense, she ever-so-carefully increased the pressure. It creaked, and Jane squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing happened except for that the door gradually gave way.

And in no time, Jane was inside, engulfed in darkness.

"What do you see, Janie? Talk to me," Korsak called out, loud enough that anyone in the vicinity would have heard. Caution be damned – that ship had sailed a while back.

Using the flashlight on her cellphone, Jane frantically scanned the room. Yes, this was definitely the place Maura was being held – Jane recognized it from the photos – but there was no sign of her best friend.

"Nothing," Jane called back, calmly at first. "Nothing! She's gone, Vince. She's not here! There's nothing here, damnit!" As Jane spun in circles in the small confined space, looking for anything that could tell her where Maura was, she became increasingly more agitated. The sum of all the past three days' events came crashing down on her in that very moment and she could no longer keep what little composure she had left. She was manic, her whole body shaking, her breathing short and in gasps.

"Where the fuck is she, Drake!? Where did you take her?! Fuck you, you animal! Where is she?!" she wailed, and though he couldn't make out the words, it was the agonizing, carnal sound coming from inside the concrete shack which brought Vince Korsak running back towards it.

"Jane!" Korsak called out, pushing open the door in one swing. "Jane, come on, calm…"

In the little light remaining of twilight that came in through the open doorway, Vince Korsak could see the outline of the brunette detective lying prone on the floor, face down. He took a few cautious steps towards her. "Janie, come on. I know... I know," he spoke in a soothing voice. "Janie, you gotta get up. We're not done. We're going to find her. Come on."

Jane didn't say a word, or move to get up.

Korsak knelt slowly beside her, laying a hand on her back, rubbing in wide, gently circles. "I know. I get it. You thought she'd be here. But this isn't the end, Janie. So you gotta get up and we have to keep looking."

But again, Jane gave him no sign she heard or acknowledged his words.

"Jane?" Korsak pressed his hand down firm against her shoulder.

Nothing.

"Rizzoli!" he shouted, his voice now urgent, panicked.

Jane just lay there, unmoving.

Pressing two fingers to her jugular, he reassured himself that she was indeed still alive, and breathing, albeit shallowly. Shaking her once, then twice, more forcefully the second time, Korsak quickly realized the woman beneath him was unconscious. Not fully grasping what exactly was going on – had she fainted? was this Drake's doing? – he quickly flipped the female detective on to her back. Her head lolled to one side, her whole body limp and heavy.

"Damnit Janie, don't do this. Not now," Korsak urged, begged. "Jane, please, wake up!"

Sliding one arm behind her neck and the other under the crook of Jane's knees, Korsak mustered all the strength he could to pull the detective close to his chest and, slowly, tried rising up on one knee. His vision blurred, he waivered, cursing himself for not being twenty years younger, for not taking better care of himself.

Blinking repeatedly, he tried to focus, setting Jane back down as gingerly as he could. He moved around to her head and slid both arms under hers. Perhaps he couldn't carry her out of there like a knight in shining armor, but he _could_ drag her out, damnit.

Lieutenant Vincent Korsak never got that far.

* * *

"Jane. Jane."

Someone was calling her name. Far away. Someone was calling out to her.

"Jane, please, wake up."

Maybe it was a dream. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

"Jane, come on."

That voice. She recognized that voice. Someone was calling her name and she knew that voice. This must be a dream.

"Open your eyes, Jane, look at me."

The voice seemed so real. It was real, and closer now, and Jane struggled to open her eyes and find just exactly where that voice was coming from.

"That's it, Jane. Please, wake up. Look at me."

So close. It wasn't a dream.

Not a dream.

That voice.

Jane's eyelids slowly fluttered open, but she was only able to keep them open for a half-second before they involuntarily slammed shut. She tried again, though they felt like they're made of lead.

"Oh Jane, that's it. Come back to me."

The first thing Jane saw when she came back to the world were her thighs, her stomach. Her chin was pressing against her chest and she realized she must be sitting. Gathering as much strength as she could manage, she lifted her head, a few inches maybe, trying to bring the images dancing across her vision into focus. She moved to rub at her eyes with her hands, and the surprise at finding that she couldn't move her arms sent a small jolt of adrenaline through her body, helping to whet her senses and bring her further back to reality.

"What…" her mouth and throat were dry and the stimulation to her vocal chords sent her into a fit of coughing, her eyes squeezing shut again.

"Jane! Jane, are you okay?"

That voice. It was right there. Right in front of her. It was real and right in front of her. Like the final drop that overflows the glass, this was the last incentive her body needed to come back from the brink of unconsciousness, and blinking one last time, she opened her eyes fully, finally able to see the person who kept calling out to her.

"Maura!" The sob that escaped Jane was sated with worry and terror and ecstasy. "Maur-! Oh God, are you… I'm so sorry… " Jane choked on her emotion. She tried to stand up, to go to her best friend, but she couldn't move from the spot. She was tied down, she realized, tied to the metal chair she was sitting in. Jane shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, looking up again at her best friend who was so close and yet out of her reach.

"Jane! Jane… Oh Jane," Maura's words came out like a prayer, and she was crying uncontrollably, too. So she bit down her bottom lip, trying to still the tempest inside, because she knew that, although there was absolutely nothing else she wanted more in the world than to just _be_ in the same space as Jane, there was no time. There was no time for tears now, and so Maura bit her lip and willed herself to calm down, to speak coherently.

"Jane, I need you to listen." Maura's voice was softer now, more even, though still laden with a million emotions which bubbled just beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry Maur. I'm so sorry. God, I…" Jane's voice shook.

"No, Jane, it's okay. Please, just… I need you to focus on what I'm going to tell you now, okay? For the both of us." The earnestness in Maura's voice made the hairs on the back of Jane's neck stand. She looked back at the honey blonde who was no more than fifteen feet away from her, sitting, not by choice as far as the detective could tell, in a chair very similar to the one Jane was tied to.

A melancholy smile flashed briefly across the doctor's lips, her hazel-green eyes conveying both warmth and the burden of the words that weighed heavily on her.

"It was Kent, Jane, he…"

"I know, Maur. We… we figured that out, when..."

But the seconds were ticking away quickly and Maura cut Jane off, "I… I don't know why, Jane, but for some reason he seems to be angry with you. This," Maura said, looking down around her and at Jane, indicating their current positions, and for the first time Jane saw the whole reality of the situation…

Both she and Maura were bound to sturdy metal seats by their wrists and calves. The chairs themselves were bolted into the cement floor of the space – some sort of warehouse? – they were in. But what set Jane's senses on fire was the realization that underneath Maura, and, underneath her chair too, there were two large parcels wrapped in brownish paper, with all sorts of wires sticking out. Jane's eyes tracked the twisting metal threads that started below Maura and slithered their way across the floor between them, joining up with more wires which came from under Jane, the whole bundle then climbing up the side of Jane's right leg and entering a small metal box at the end of Jane's right armrest, just within her reach. She and Maura were both connected by a bunch of red and white and yellow wires to that little box where a small LED flashed red numbers, counting down in even intervals, one second, another second, another second.

A timer. A fucking timer. For explosives? Fire? Whatever it was, Jane knew it wouldn't be good. Beneath the timer, there was a black knob, a dial of sorts, its arrow indicator pointing straight up. On the left side of the dial, "Save Maura" was written in black permanent marker. On the right, "Save Jane."

"What the fuck is this?!" Jane cried out.

Maura gave Jane just a few seconds to take it all in, to understand what it all meant, before she continued. "He's crazy, Jane. He said this was some kind of… of lesson. I don't know what he's got it in his head that you've done, but he just kept repeating that you had to learn. I… I think…" but Maura couldn't finish the thought.

"He's making me choose." Jane's words were deliberate, sober. "And if I don't?"

Maura couldn't keep hold on her self-control any longer, breaking out into a soft, gentle whimper. "He said… fifteen… he said you have fifteen minutes, and then we'll both..."

Jane looked down at the digital display, numbers precipitating, one by one...

 _09:47…_

 _09:46…_

 _09:45…_

… but she didn't need even a millisecond of that time to decide. She already knew exactly which way she was going to turn that dial. Strangely, she wasn't half as afraid as she was seconds ago, before she'd had any clear plan of how to get Maura out safe, alive. She took a deep, unwavering breath, rolled her shoulders back.

"Jane, look at me," Maura pleaded tenderly, sensing the change in Jane's demeanor.

"Don't, Maura. Please. You can't change my mind." Jane did her best to level her tone, wanting to sound as calm and confident as possible. "It's going to be okay, Maur. You're going to be just fine." She smiled at the woman across from her, genuinely, reassuringly. That's all that mattered now.

"Jane, no," Maura snapped back, her voice hard and laced with sharp edges. She refused to listen to Jane tell her goodbye. The severity in Maura's tone silenced the brunette for a moment. "Jane, you can't. You think you're saving me, but you're not. You wouldn't be. I couldn't…" Maura's breath hitched but she forced herself to keep going, because this – this was the most important conversation she'd ever had in her whole life and she had one chance to get it right, "I wouldn't survive losing you, Jane. You have to know that. You mean the world to me. You _are_ the world to me."

"Maura, stop. I…"

"No, Jane," Maura's tone was firm, determined, even through the tears, "you've got your family – your mom and your brothers, TJ. You've got a life and people who love you and need you, people who depend on you. It won't be easy, but I _know_ you, Jane Rizzoli. You are the strongest person I've ever met and you _will_ survive this. I…" Maura's tears had soaked her soft red cheeks and were dripping from her chin, the tip of her nose, her lips, "I wouldn't. You're all I've got. You have to save yourself. You'll be okay, you'll see. And, Jane?" Maura paused, waiting for Jane's eyes to meet hers, "if you're not going to save yourself then don't save either of us. I'm begging you."

"You're wrong," Jane threw back, a sliver of anger but mostly sorrow tinging her words. "You're wrong, Maura. About all of it."

Maura just shook her head. Jane was so unbelievably stubborn sometimes. It was a part of her that Maura secretly always loved about the detective, but she cursed her for it now.

"Yes, you are," Jane repeated, more forceful this time. The stupid clock was ticking and she _had_ to make sure Maura understood. "You are wrong that you don't have anyone. Your parents love you, Maur. _My_ mom loves you, just like you were her own flesh and blood. You're not alone, Maura Isles, and you never have been. But what you are really fucking wrong about," and Jane didn't miss it when, even now, Maura twitched almost imperceptibly, more out of habit than anything, at the swear word, "is that I could ever be _okay_ without you. That I'd ever be strong enough to get over killing my… my best friend."

"Jane, you're not killing me. He is. Please believe that."

" _No one_ is going to kill you, Maura. It's my fault you're here in the first place. You'd have been better off never having known me," and all of that calmness and reassured-ness that Jane was fighting to hold onto started slipping away from her too now.

"Don't you dare say that," Maura cried angrily.

"It's true! You're here because of me. Because I never think before I act, and I've hurt too many people doing that already. I'm not going to add you to the list. Whatever happens, Maura, I deserve it."

"We are here because of a madman, Jane. You don't deserve any of this."

"No, Maura. Kent…" Jane looked at the clock – _06:38, 06:37_ – growling in frustration, then "Kent's angry with me because his fiancé died in Afghanistan, because of me." When Maura looked at her with confusion etched over her features, Jane explained, "Casey made a shitty call when he found out about my miscarriage, and Kent's fiancé was the casualty. Maura, I didn't even _think_ about the baby I was carrying when I went in to save Tasha. It didn't even pass through my brain, Maura, not even once. What kind of person does that make me?"

"Selfless."

"No. No, I save people I don't even know without thinking about how I'll hurt the people I _do_ know… the people who matter the most to me."

Jane went silent, not sure of what more she could say. It was true. She had a nasty habit of hurting the people she loved the most and she wasn't going to keep doing it. It was time for all of this to stop. Maura would be okay, in time, she'd see, and maybe someday she'd even forgive Jane for all the pain and suffering Jane had caused her. Jane could only hope.

When Jane finally lifted her gaze to see her best friend, the look on her face was not one she was expecting. Anger, fear, hurt, sadness, any or some combination of all of those would have been expected. But the expression she saw on Maura's countenance was a different one – one she recognized well, too. Maura Isles' wheels were turning. She was contemplating, lost deep in some complex thought.

"Maur?" Jane prompted.

"It makes sense," Maura said aloud, though it was more to herself than to Jane. Her voice had that "ah-ha", enlightened kind of intonation.

"What does?"

"What you said, about Kent. About how he blames you for his fiancé's death. The few times we… spoke," Maura decided to skip over how the majority of their "conversations" had been one-sided, violent rants, "he kept going on and on about how you sacrifice yourself for others, how you are always the hero…"

"I'm not a hero, Maur-" Jane retorted, unsure of why her best friend was telling her all of this. What difference did it make now?

"That's not… that's not the point Jane. The point is that – Kent – he blames you for his fiancé's death, right? That's an important piece of the puzzle I didn't have til now, but it all makes sense. He's angry with you because you always put yourself in harm's way without thinking about how it will hurt the people who care about you." As she spoke, Maura never once took her eyes off of the woman in front of her, studying her like she always did in all their years of friendship. "So why, now, would he ask you to do just that? To choose between your life or someone else's? He has to know you'd never save yourself to let someone else die…"

"I'd never save myself to let _you_ die, Maura. You're not just someone else."

Maura shook her head again, realizing that Jane still didn't see what she was getting on at. Maura tried again.

"Jane, Kent plays games, right? Nothing has ever been what it seemed with him. So why would it be this time? Why would he put you in a position where you have to choose between your own life or... or mine, unless there was some bigger aim? He has to know you'd choose to save me, and what lesson would that teach you, Jane, if you are dead? He was adamant about how you have to _learn_ – what kind of lesson is it if you die doing the very thing he hates you for? You'd forever be the hero he hates you for being." Maura took a deep breath, looking Jane directly in the eyes, searching for some sign of understanding. "You have to save yourself, Jane. It's the choice he wants you to make and knows you never would. That's the twist this time."

Jane let Maura's words run over her, trying to take them in and sort them out. It made sense in a fucked up, perverted way. If Kent was so angry with Jane for always playing the hero, then what point was there to forcing her to do it one last time? If what Maura said was true, that Kent was trying to teach Jane a lesson, or even just get revenge, how would letting Jane kill herself to save Maura achieve that? Jane would just be dead. It'd be over. No one would learn a thing.

"Hosea six six. For I desire steadfast love, not sacrifice…"

"What, Jane?"

"It was… it was written on the pictures he sent… of you," and Jane could see Maura wince at the thought. "A bible quote that I never understood. I thought he was just toying with us."

"Repeat it to me, Jane."

"For I desire steadfast love and not… not sacrifice… I don't remember the rest, something… about burnt offerings." Jane's head was swimming with thoughts, speculation.

 _02:21…_

 _02:20…_

 _02:19…_

Maura was the first to speak again. "Jane? Jane Rizzoli, I am asking you to trust me. You have to choose yourself – save yourself. He knows you'd never do it and that's why you _have_ to, Jane. Please."

"Maur I do. I trust you. You're right, it doesn't make sense, getting his revenge this way. But what lesson would it teach me if I… kill… if I killed you instead of me? That doesn't make sense either."

"Maybe you won't, Jane. Maybe, if you choose yourself, we'll both get out of this alive," Maura wasn't certain of this, but it was the only thing that proved logical, in a twisted way, and either way she had to convince Jane of it, because what she _was_ certain of was that if Jane chose to save Maura, something else, something much more terrible would happen. That's the way Kent's warped mind worked.

"And if you're wrong?" Jane's voice was deep, husky, weighted with anguish.

"I'm not." Maura's answer was firm, she had to convince Jane.

"You don't know that. You don't, Maura. I could never live with myself. What if you're wrong about this?" Jane was pleading with her to give her some kind of proof - evidence - something tangible that Jane could believe in instead of a hunch that meant risking the life of the person she... of the person she needed more than anyone else on this planet.

The doctor broke into a sweet, pained smile, and decided to take a page out of the Rizzoli handbook - humor. God she just wanted to see Jane smile one more time. "If I'm wrong Jane, then I'll let you take me to that monster truck rally you've pestered me about forever."

But her attempt failed miserably, and Maura's smile disappeared too. Her voice somber, she tried again, "I'm not wrong."

"But if you are?!" Jane cried out. "Jesus, Maura, Kent's insane. Maybe there is no logic to all of this. You have to admit that! Don't ask me to do this when you know I can't. Tell me what happens, then, Maura. What if you are wrong?" Jane's voice grew desperate as the seconds counted ever closer to zero and the decision she was so sure of a few minutes before was now hesitant, unclear.

Maura contemplated her next words. What she desperately wanted to say was " _If I'm wrong, Jane, then know that I died happy, because I'd know that you were okay, that I saved you for once, and that's all I need. If I'm wrong, Jane, then know that I meant what I said – I'd never be able to keep on living without you. You are my heart, my light, and I could never live without the only person I've ever truly_ loved _with every fiber of my being. So if I'm wrong, Jane Rizzoli, know that I died happy, and I died loving you."_

But she couldn't. She couldn't say those words now. Maura _knew_ that if she wavered, if she faltered in her resolution, if she… God, if she told Jane she loved her… no, Jane would never do what she was asking of her. And she needed her to. Because either way, it was Maura's only chance. Either Maura was right, and by choosing to save herself she somehow would save them both, or Maura was wrong, and by saving herself Maura would die, but this was Maura Isles' only chance at happiness. She'd never be happy without Jane Rizzoli.

So all she said was, "I'm not. I'm not wrong. You have to trust me."

 _00:17…_

 _00:16…_

 _00:15…_

The two women fixed their eyes on each other, pouring ever single emotion they'd ever had for one another into that moment.

"Trust me, Jane," Maura smiled through her tears.

 _00:09…_

 _00:08…_

"We'll be okay, Jane."

 _00:07…_

 _00:06…_

 _00:05…_

Jane sucked in a shaky, trembling breath, and placed her long slender fingers on the hard plastic knob.

 _00:03…_

Just as the final few seconds were about to tick away, Jane twisted the dial. Never breaking their gaze, in that last, final moment, both women spoke, simultaneously –

"Trust me, Jane."

"I love you, Maura Isles."

* * *

 **Aaaahhhhh!**

 **Okay so I hope this isn't a let down, but this is how I'd envisioned their "reunion" since I started writing this story. I hope I did the scene justice - as always I'm torn between sitting on this for a few days and revising it, tweaking it, perfecting it - and posting it asap for you all. Once again I chose the latter! I think perhaps I stole this scene from the Dark Knight - the whole having to choose one or the other before the timer runs out and blows everyone to smithereens or lights them on fire or... whatever sick twisted torture Kent had planned.**

 **Also, I will explain what exactly happened to Korsak and Jane in the prison cell, as well as the whole "warehouse" set-up in the next chapters. But I wanted to reveal only as much information as our characters know at the time, so you'll figure it out when they do.**

 **I'm so overwhelmed by all your fantastic comments and reviews - please keep them coming!**


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